


destiny is a book you write yourself

by polarizingpolaris



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Emotional Baggage, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone is suffering, F/M, Heavy Angst, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda?????, Lord Viren's A+ Parenting, Near Death, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, alternate title : how many times can i make callum and rayla cry, basically a more dangerous season 3, good luck lol, turns out it's a lot of times, we all get to suffer!, you get to suffer! and you get to suffer!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarizingpolaris/pseuds/polarizingpolaris
Summary: With the threat of war over their heads, Rayla and Callum are in a rush to get Zym back to the Dragon Queen. However, the universe has other plans. Not even a minute into Xadia and they've already pissed off a centuries-old dragon, a town full of sunfire elves, and whatever higher power is controlling their Fate. Time is ticking, war could begin at any second, and there's two questions hanging over their heads.One : Will they get Zym back to his mother in time?Two : Will they live long enough to be able to do so?(In which Season 3 was too kind to Rayllum, and I write too much angst.)
Relationships: Azymondias & Callum & Rayla (The Dragon Prince), Callum & Ezran & Rayla (The Dragon Prince), Callum & Rayla (The Dragon Prince), Callum & Zubeia (The Dragon Prince), Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> *i decided that i will probably never finish this so i may as well post it
> 
> *oh yeah this was started before season 3 so don't come at me if it's different ok? ok
> 
> *for the sol regem part i'm going based off of the synopsis ppl gave from the panel episode, i wasn't there this is gonna be my version ok ok? ok ok
> 
> *am i writing this only bc i have one scene to write and i built a whole story around that one scene? yes. yes i am
> 
> *hm perhaps i should put warnings so no one gets triggered uh there's burns but they're light sorta, some injuries, near drowning, mentions of killing people but no one actually does anything, dehydration, basically survival stuff 
> 
> *wow ok that made it sound worse than it actually is uhhhh
> 
> *after i pitched this story idea to a writers gc i was called a serial killer in writing, so uh,,,,,,,,, good luck?

The Archdragon towers over them.

She’s heard many tales of the Archdragon of the Sun, most of them not good. Some say he’s unforgiving and ruthless. Some say he’s fiercely protective. No matter who's telling the story, the impression stays the same: the Archdragon of Sun is cold like ice.

He is in front of her, standing with his chest puffed out, a silent warning to not come any closer. She used to think Runaan is (no, _was_ , she reminds herself, no matter how much it pains her) intimidating, but the Archdragon is the definition of that. Tall and thoughtful and majestic, even, had she not been fearing for her life. Golden scales that gleam in the light, glowing yellow like the Sun itself. His feet stomp against the ground, over double the size of her entire body. One wrong move, and he can crush her before she can begin to protest.

Of course, she's not alone. The Dragon Prince is in Callum's arms, and they watch behind her, Callum's face lit up in awe, Zym's in fear. If the Archdragon has not destroyed them, then he has not sensed them yet.

That’s one advantage they have, she supposes. The Archdragon's eyes are red blisters now, covering the spaces where his pupils should be. In fact, there aren't any holes for eyes, she observes, now that he's in front of her. The angry patch of red has grown over them, smoothing over the indents where his eyes once were.

He can sense them; she knows that. Presence sensing is a powerful thing, and in front of her is a powerful dragon. In his next whiff of air, he will smell the human behind her and the dragon in his arms and the moon inside of herself. He will not ask questions, he doesn't have the time nor the ability to care, and they will be burnt to a crisp before they can step foot into Xadia.

Into _home_.

And so, making a decision in the split of a second, she turns on her heel and grabs Callum by his jacket and covers his mouth, leaping to throw them behind an archway of rock. The human makes a muffled sound of protest, and she prays the Archdragon doesn't hear it.

She hits the ground hard, a spike of pain shooting up her arm and her side in the dirt. Callum isn't faring much better, squeezing his eyes shut at the impact, and in his arms, Zym’s face scrunches. But the Archdragon is out of view, and that's good enough.

Still lying on the ground, Callum twists around to face her. The left side of his jacket is coated with sand. His voice is soft, tentative, not quite with awe, but not with fear either. "Who is that?"

Rayla glances to the edge of the rock they are hidden behind, seeing the head of the Archdragon. "Sol Regem," she replies, her voice hoarse and tight.

She’s heard the stories about him.

She cuffs her hand into a fist and clears her throat as quietly as she can. "He's the Archdragon of the Sun."

Callum raises his eyebrows, eyes drifting down to Zym, who's poked his head out from his embrace. "Archdragon?"

"It's like--" she begins, and the ground shakes as Sol Regem stomps, and she cuts off with a breath through her teeth. Callum's own eyes are wide, and Zym looks at her, nervous, and she realizes they are looking to _her_ for answers. They are looking for her to tell them what to do, and she has no idea. She’s used to being the one who looks, and now that the roles are reversed, she is left scrambling.

Sol Regem's breath is loud and deep, resonating through the air like the whole world has stopped for him. It is deathly silent. The Archdragon's head tilts up towards the sky, and with a low rumble, he mutters, "The prince of sky will return home."

Rayla and Callum share a look of confusion. His voice shakes the earth. "Come to me."

She recognizes the order, the sternness of his tone, the underlying threat beneath his voice. She doesn't dare to sit up, despite the ache from staying in the uncomfortable position she fell in. She hardly even dares to breathe. Sol Regem _hates_ humans- hate isn't even a strong enough word- Sol Regem _loathes_ humans. He will kill Callum on sight. She cannot let that happen.

Rayla, however... perhaps she has a chance.

She pushes herself up with newfound determination, jaw set and gaze pointed. Her mind is set, even if her knees shake as she rises to her feet. Callum watches her, desperation in the way he reaches out his hand, asking ' _what are you doing?'_ with his expression. She does not answer. She does not think she can.

Her knees may shake, her hands may twitch, but when she looks down at the human and young dragon, her resolve hardens. They will never know of her nerves.

She does not falter as she steps out from behind their cover. She does not falter as the Archdragon sniffs the air, no doubt sensing the moon in her heart. She will not let him know she shakes. She will not let him know she is afraid. If not for her sake, then for the dragon and human she is protecting.

"Your honor," she begins, and she realizes with a start she has _no clue_ what she is doing. She cannot weave words like others can. She is an elf of action, not reason. Though to be fair, she probably couldn't reason with him if she tried.

If Sol Regem had eyes, she can imagine him peering down at her, scrutinizing, examining her every move. He will most likely judge even her breathing, and she presses her hands into her legs to stop their shake. She opens her mouth to speak.

The Archdragon beats her to it. "There is a human nearby."

It's strange, The low rumble of his voice would be comforting if he was not on the verge of charring her.

His words slam into her, her heart dropping, feeling like she has been punched. She has failed before she even began.

"I--" she stutters, her determination drained in a snap. She does not know what to say or what to do. There is no one else to rely on, and Rayla has never felt more alone.

But then there is something pawing at her feet, and when she looks down, Zym is at her heels, gazing up at her with big, blue eyes, and she is reminded of who she is doing this for.

Sol Regem recoils like he's been slapped. The scales on his neck glow a faint orange with emotion, and she finds herself stepping in front of Zym protectively. Why the dragon had followed her out here, she does not know, but his presence by her feet is comforting, and she is glad he did.

"There is," she confirms, setting her back straight and standing tall.

"I do not need you to confirm what I already know," the Archdragon snarls. "You brought him here, did you not?"

"Yes," she says. She is grateful for Zym's presence, paws resting on her ankles in a silent show of support. She certainly needs it. "We found the Dragon Prince's egg in the High Mage of Katolis' lair. We are returning him home to his mother to stop the war."

Sol Regem's expression is blank, his jaw clenched tightly. For a second, she worries he will smite her, burn her to ashes and let the wind carry her off. Instead, he says, "You and the Dragon Prince may pass. The human however, cannot."

"What?" she exclaims, Zym's eyes widening as well.

"You really think I am going to let a _human_ into _Xadia_?" Sol Regem growls, patronizing, almost sounding like there's a laugh behind his words. "You insolent child! Humans deserve," there is acid in his tone, and he spits his words, "to _die_."

She falls silent, as does Zym, as does the canyons, as does the world. It is as if the entire earth is holding its breath, watching, waiting for Sol Regem to crush her under his foot or set her and Zym ablaze or do _anything_. Fear grips her heart and she is _choking_ and there is nothing more she can do because she cannot leave Callum behind.

She cannot leave behind the boy who asked her questions on the boat, knowing she felt sick and knowing she needed a distraction despite the fact that she was an elf. She cannot leave behind the boy who had cried ' _I'm a mage!'_ after saving her and Ezran and the egg from the wolves made by one of his longtime friends. She cannot leave behind the boy who had cheered with her and laughed in relief with her and hugged her with pure joy when they had crossed the border. She cannot leave behind the boy who had gone against all of his morals to save her--

He had... it... it was always to save her, wasn't it? It was never about doing magic, it was never about Soren and Claudia, it was never about the dragon, it was about _her_. He had given up his morals, had done the complete opposite of what he thought was right, had nearly _killed himself_ and it was all for _her_.

And there is Ezran too, who gave her comfort with the leech, who had gazed up at her with the egg and told her to run, who had been nothing but kind and caring and thoughtful towards her despite her race. There is Soren, who while trying to kill her and Ezran, also related to her just for a _second_. There is Claudia, who made everyone pancakes, even her, and had run over to Zym with nothing but love in her eyes. There is Ellis, who never questioned her race, who never gave her a strange look, who accepted her for herself without doubt. And there is Callum, sweet, sweet Callum, who has saved her more times than she can count and has always put others before himself.

They do not deserve this treatment. They do not deserve these hateful words. They do not deserve to be thought of as lesser beings or dangerous or useless or like something to crush under your shoe. And most of all, they do _not_ deserve to die.

"No," she seethes, her hands clenched into fists, her fingernails biting into her palms, her teeth grinding together. She is not annoyed. She is not mad. She is _angry_ , because it's not fair. It's not _fair_.

"No?" Sol Regem questions, looking down on her, his condescending tone and snobby attitude and the way his presence screams ' _I am superior to you_ ' grating on her nerves.

"You are wrong," she snarls. She glares up at the dragon through her bangs. Zym's pawing has halted. Sol Regem's underlying sniggering has halted. Even her doubts have halted, any fear of the Archdragon disappearing in her rage. "You are so _wrong_. Humans are brave, and strong, and caring, and so, so kind. They aren't bloodthirsty monsters who destroy everything in their path. They are people just like us."

She steps forward. At this point, she's not sure whether she's talking about humans as a whole anymore. "They have saved my life more times then I can count, and they _always_ put others before themselves. Just because _one_ human did dark magic and burned your eyes out does _not_ mean that--"

" _SILENCE_!" Sol Regem bellows, and she is hit by her own words. Oh, she should not have said that. She _really_ should not have said that. Moon above, _what did she do?_

"You don't understand!" she cries, desperate, fear creeping back into her voice. "Callum is... he's my friend! My best friend! I can't do this without him!"

"I'm... I'm what?"

How fast she whips her head around is astounding. Behind her stands Callum, posture shy, eyes blown wide and sparkling. He clenches the strap of his sketchbook. "Am... am I really...?"

"Yes," she replies. She is surprised by how easily she says it, how right it feels. There is no other term for him. She could not say they are allies; she could not say they are friends. Not when he has smiled with her. Not when he has laughed with her. Not when he has cried with her. Not when he has nearly died for her.

Zym bounds over to him, and while Callum doesn't look away from her, on autopilot, he collects Zym in his arms. He is stunned into silence, arms limp aside from holding the baby dragon.

But then his lips split into a smile, the brightest smile she has ever seen, and he looks at her so _happily_ it makes her heart melt.

She holds out her hand, trying to communicate that whatever they do, they do together. She does not have to face the Archdragon alone. Callum adjusts his hold on Zym so he's only using one arm, and he slips his hand into hers. He watches her with a soft, dopey grin, and she laces their finger together (they fit perfectly, she notes) before turning back to a furious Sol Regem.

She can see how angry beyond belief he is. She has spit words in his face about his greatest weakness. She has defended the very people he so hates. And now, she holds hands and smiles with someone of the race he despises.

So naturally, she holds up their hands in the air just to see the look of rage on his face.

The fire that comes after was bound to happen eventually.

***

They run.

Rayla had held up their hands as a sign of both pride and spite, and he had watched as the throat of Sol Regem, as Rayla called him, lit up fiery red. The flames had come after.

He clutches Zym close to his chest as tightly as he can with one arm, and he and Rayla throw themselves to the side. She drops their hands to grab him by his backpack and pull him along, and they just barely make it out of the way of his fire. They duck behind a rock formation, his heart in his throat, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"We need a plan," he manages between gasps for air. Rayla nods, and Callum scrambles for ideas. First rule of battle tactics: assess what you know. He doesn't have much to go on in that department. He runs the image of Sol Regem through his mind. He's a sun dragon. He hates humans. He's blind.

Wait...

"He... he's blind right?"

Rayla confirms, "Right."

"So then... he's probably after me? I don't know, can he, uh, sense me... or something?"

She gives him a look. If he didn't know her any better, he would think she looks stern, but really she is determined. He likes that he can pick that up. "Short version? Yes."

"Okay," he says. "Okay, okay, so if I... if we can... lead him away? He'll stay away, right?"

She’s lost in thought for a second. "I think that could work. But lead him away how?"

He thinks. His Aunt Amaya has lost one of her senses, and she says that her other senses became stronger to compensate for it. The same must apply to Sol Regem.

"Can he sense through smell?"

A nod.

"Then what if we used... like..." he trails off, and he sets Zym on the ground for a second, ignoring how Sol Regem's stomping is shaking it. He peels his scarf over his head, holding the red fabric in his hands. "This."

Rayla gazes at it, lost in thought for a second. "If I wear it, I can distract Sol Regem long enough for you and Zym to go past."

"What about you?"

"I'll..." she swallows, "figure it out. We're going to need it to _really_ smell like you for him to sense it over my own presence, though."

Callum hums. Taking it literally, he grimaces and then rubs the scarf under his armpit. When Rayla gives him a look, he smiles sheepishly. "I haven't showered in two weeks. This should do the trick."

He hands the scarf to her and she takes it gingerly, wrapping it around her own neck. She gags, and he shoots her an offended look, and she turns on her heel to run.

He catches her arm. "Wait!"

She watches him, confused, and any and all words die in his throat. Maybe he never had any in the first place. There is so much he could say, so much he wants- no- _needs_ to say, but he cannot find strong enough words to use.

So he gives a smile, one that tells her to be careful, one that tells her that everything will be okay. She does not return it, but he can see some of the tension in her shoulders droop away. She nods, affirmative, and then she is off, and Callum is left on his own.

Well, not entirely on his own. He picks Zym back up and whispers, "Okay. We can do this."

Sol Regem roars, and he hears the crackling of flames. He squeezes his eyes shut. He has to trust Rayla, trust that she'll be okay, trust that she can take care of herself. "We can do this."

There is another spot for cover a little ways away. If he sprints at the right time, they should be able to make it. In his arms, Zym yips, giving his cheek a good luck lick. He laughs lightly. "We can do this."

He waits a few seconds, watching from behind the rock. Rayla is outrunning the Archdragon's flames, maneuvering around them like it's a walk in the park. When Sol Regem's attention is mostly focused on her, he makes his move.

He doesn't have time to look back at Sol Regem. The rock is a few seconds sprint away, and he pushes his legs to go as fast as they can. Sol Regem's fire stops for a moment, him being confused about Callum's double presence, but he doesn't have time to worry about Sol Regem figuring out their plans. Cover is ten feet away, seven feet away, five feet away--

There is the sound of fire, orange light in the corner of his eye, and he hurls himself at the rock.

He gets behind cover, half a second too late.

He hears it first, the sound of ripping fabric, of a blaze right by his ear. The left sleeve of his jacket is torn, burned off, caught by the edge of the wall of fire. The black ashes flutter in the wind. He feels it next.

It stings, to say the least. It travels up his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder, coating the side of his arm. It feels as though he is being pricked by a million tiny, hot spikes, like a case of pins-and-needles but ten times worse and ten times hotter. He twists and falls onto his back, knocking any breath he had out of him. Dirt he kicks up puts out any lingering flames on his jacket.

It _burns_ , which makes sense because he's been burned, and he bites down hard on his lip. Zym makes concerned sounds, patting his chest and looking at him, eyes wide and filled with worry. For all the bruises Callum has gotten from training with Soren, they have never compared to this. He grits his teeth and looks to his arm.

It's red and irritated all over, the closer it gets to his shoulder, the worse it looks. It stings from his fall and from the fire itself. There is dirt on the charred remains of his jacket, the ripped part black at the edges, and there are specks of dirt on his arm. It's itchy and throbbing and it hurts, it really hurts, and suddenly he wants to cry.

He thinks he does start crying because Zym squeals and rubs his paws under Callum's eyes and on his cheeks. _'We can do this,'_ he said, but then he went and messed it up, because of course he did. Of course. What a joke.

He must've started crying more. Zym lays down on his chest, giving an awkward hug. His back hurts, his arm hurts, heck, even his pride hurts, but he hears Sol Regem yell in frustration, and he sniffles. Using his other arm, he pushes himself up to sit, Zym falling into his lap. The baby dragon peers up at him to see if he's okay. Callum offers a small smile.

"It's okay." It's not. "I'm okay." He's not.

He tilts his head up like he's going to be able to see Sol Regem. He must be focused entirely on Rayla now, and he worries for a second that she'll end up like him. He shakes his head. She'll be fine; she's much faster and has much more experience than he does.

Everything hurts, but he pushes himself up onto his feet. There is nothing he wants to do more than curl up into a ball and start sobbing because his back hurts, his legs hurt, his arm _burns_ , but he can't do anything but move on for now. He offers his good arm to Zym, but the baby dragon stays planted on the ground, knowing that carrying him will make things worse for Callum. He gives a grateful smile.

Peaking his head out from behind the rock, he watches what is going on. Rayla is behind another rock, Sol Regem's fire passing over the sides. Her eyes dart across the landscape for more cover. He's not sure what she spots at first, but she makes a dash into the open. Sol Regem blows fire, but she is faster, making it to a mini-cave opening.

Sol Regem breathes in to form flames again, but he does not aim for her. Instead, he aims for the rocks above her. Her eyes flutter to the cave ceiling, and she gives a horrified look as in slow motion, the rocks pile on top of her.

"Rayla!" he screams, even though he knows that he needs to stay hidden. It takes all he has and Zym holding onto his pant leg for him to not run over to her. It's not real, it can't be real. There's no way. There's _no way-_ except it makes sense, because to Sol Regem, that was Callum he was chasing. That was Callum he was trying to burn. That was Callum he just dropped rocks on. That was Callum he just killed. Oh god, he just _killed_ her, Rayla is _gone_ and Callum is alone--

But faintly, in the distance, he hears the shout of, "I'm here!" Through a gap in the rocks, he sees the purple of her eyes, blinking in the dark.

A wave of relief washes over him at the sound of her voice, nearly making his knees give out. His heart had been in a chokehold for a second, his arm forgotten, and he notices his next breath is a lot deeper than the one before. Even Zym is reassured, his grip on his pants loosening.

As much as he wants to run over to her, Callum does not dare move. Not after last time; the itch of his arm is a painful reminder. Sol Regem is parading around in confusion, wondering why the sound of their voices doesn’t match up with whatever he was sensing. He cannot afford to speak again. But what can they do now? Callum is burned and battered, Rayla is trapped under layers of rock, and Zym is barely able to fly. They have nothing on their side.

He can see the gleam of Rayla's swords in hook form, prying at the rocks. It will take too long to free her, and there is no doubt Sol Regem will notice and figure out their plan. The gears in his mind turn, scrambling for some sort of move, some sort of answer.

They still have his scarf. It probably still smells like him, and it is probably still sensible. The only problem is Sol Regem believes he is now trapped under rock. But when Callum had run to cover while Rayla was out there, Sol Regem had still gone after him. He had still burned him. Sol Regem won't take his chances. If they use the scarf again, they can probably still lure him around on the sole reason that he won't be too cautious. It's a lot of probablys, but it's the best (and only) idea he's got.

This time, they cannot lead the Archdragon around blindly. They cannot afford to go in without a plan again. They need to lure him to a specific place, not in circles. If they can trap Sol Regem like he trapped Rayla, that would be great, but he doubts there is a cave big enough.

But then he remembers the archway they passed on their way here, and when he looks around, he finds it not far from where they are. It's about as tall as the Archdragon, and it would be a tight fit too. If they can get him stuck between the rocks, they might have enough time to free Rayla and get away. It's a gamble, loose at best, but it's all they've got.

Now, how can he convey all that to Rayla?

He waves his arm first to get her attention. Her swords have pried the rock far apart enough for most of her face to show through, but she doesn't notice him. There is not much else he can do, so he continues motioning with his hand. Finally, her swords disappear back into the rock, and they are replaced by her face, a raised brow staring back at him.

Explaining is hard enough with no words and her not knowing sign language, but with one arm, it's plain difficult. He motions to his neck, circling his finger around it. Then he makes a throwing motion. Her face scrunches in complete confusion, but then her mouth makes an o shape. She disappears into the dark again.

He waits. After a few seconds, the red of his scarf emerges from the gap in the rock, and with the flick of her wrist, she launches it into the air. Sol Regem's reaction is instant, his head snapping awake and in the direction of the scarf.

He made an extra plan to get it over to the arch, but it involves a risk. If he can cast Aspiro, he should be able to blow it all the way over to the arch. But in order to do that, he has to be at the right angle, in this case, behind the scarf. He takes a deep breath, and using his good arm, he draws a familiar rune.

Then he runs.

The rune travels with him, and as soon as he is close to the scarf, he chants, "Aspiro!" and lets out his breath. The scarf is blown past Sol Regem and towards the arch. He holds the spell for a few seconds before releasing it, jumping to the side so Sol Regem doesn't notice his real presence. He lands right by the rock pile Rayla is inside.

Sol Regem chases after his scarf as it weaves through the air, red fluttering in the breeze he created. It flies between the arch, and Sol Regem sticks his head in to follow it, but he gets caught halfway through. He tries to pull back, but he is wedged between the rock, Callum's scarf drifting to the ground. When he realizes what they've done, he lets out an enraged scream with nothing but pure _rage_ , voice echoing off the Earth, making the ground shake. It's so loud, he bets you could hear it from Katolis.

He sits still, catching his breath. Rayla sticks out her hand. "High four!"

Chuckling, he tucks down his pinky and hits his hand against hers. "We did it!"

Rayla brings out her hooks again, working on prying the rocks apart. "Do you need any help?"

"Nah," she replies. "I should be fine now that I don't have to worry about Sol Regem. Plus, I don't think there's much you can do from out there."

He nods, staring over at the Archdragon. He is yanking back as hard as he can, but he cannot free himself. He bets he'll find a way to get free eventually, but hopefully they'll be long gone by then. His scarf is a red stain on the sand. A childish part of him is sad to have to leave it behind.

But then he sees Zym dash over to the Archdragon. "Wait--" Callum cries, keeping his voice down, but Zym is either too far away to listen or doesn't care. Sol Regem can sense him, he knows that, and Callum fears Zym will be burned to a crisp.

Sol Regem does not move to attack him. He can't, he realizes. Zym is technically a prince, next in line for the Xadian throne, and Sol Regem cannot hurt him. That puts a smile on Callum's face. The baby dragon picks up Callum's scarf between his teeth, gazes up at the Archdragon for a second, and then bounds back over to him. Callum wants to cry again.

He kneels down and wraps his arm around Zym, nuzzling his face into his mane. "Thank you."

Zym chirps happily and hold the out the scarf. Pieces of rock fall from the cave beside them, and Rayla's legs squeeze through the hole, followed by her torso, followed by her head. She drops onto the ground next to them. She is covered in dust and small cuts, her hair tangled and mused. "Hi."

"Hi," he replies, drawing up to his full height. The adrenaline hasn't gone away, the pain in his arm and back hasn't faded, and so moving on feels weird. It all feels weird, like it's over too suddenly. Regardless, he steps closer to Rayla and throws his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. He can faintly smell himself on her, mixed with the scent of moonberries. Her own arms encircle his back, and for a second, he forgets about the Archdragon and his burn and the fear left over from a couple minutes ago and simply enjoys her embrace.

When she steps away, she gives a sly smile. "That certainly went well."

He chuckles, even though it shouldn't be funny. Raising the pitch of his voice, he mocks, "I'll figure it out!"

"Shut up," she replies, punching his good arm lightly. "And for the record, we _did_ figure it out."

"Only because my _brilliant_ plan saved us."

"Your 'brilliant plan' also involved throwing yourself at a rock when I hadn't had a chance to lead Sol Regem away, but okay."

"Pfft," he laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. "You got caught under a pile of rocks, so don't even start."

"Fine," she concedes. "At least your scarf saved us in the end. Speaking of which..." she trails off, a sudden look of nervousness replacing her playful attitude before. "I-- uh..."

"What?"

She kneels to Zym's level, taking the scarf from his mouth. It is covered in dirt and sweat now, but the red still gleams as bright as ever. She stands again, and she fiddles with the fabric in her hands. "Can... can I..."

"Yes?"

"Can I keep this?" she blurts, and the tips of her ears go red. "'Cause it's... uh... if it managed to save us here, then it must be good luck. So can I..."

He doesn't even have to think about it. He takes the scarf from her hands, and her face falls, but then he wraps it around her neck, giving a soft smile. "There."

Her mouth is shaped like an o, standing on edge like she's been shocked by lightning. "Oh."

He has no other words, so he just keeps grinning like a fool. All at once, Sol Regem hollers, and when he looks over, he is at least a step more free than he was before. A sudden spike of panic shoots through him, and Rayla drops down and scoops up Zym. She takes his arm in hers just as Sol Regem frees his body, drawing back up to his full height. His roar shakes the ground, not mad, not angry, but completely _furious_ at being outsmarted. Callum does not want to stick around to find out what he'll do next.

They don't have to look at each other to make their next decision. Rayla laces her fingers through his, and they sprint away for their lives.

***

Rayla has been training since she could walk. She is no stranger to long nights, staying up to train, wearing herself out so by the end of the week, she could barely move.

But she has never felt like this.

Her legs are burning from running. She had grabbed Callum's hand and they had sprinted away, not daring to look back or to stop. Her feet are sore from pounding against the ground, blistering and peeling. Her shirt is covered in sweat and her hair is a mess; she is hungry and thirsty and tired but they don't have resources to spare; she has cuts on any area her skin shows from pieces of rock, and it _hurts_ because there's nothing she can do about it.

She can't bandage her wounds; they had used their only bandages on Callum, and he needs them more. While having rocks almost dropped on her was bad enough, Callum had been _burned._ Luckily, it wasn't bad, ranging somewhere from a bad first-degree to a light second-degree. They'll have to go to a town for some sort of burn cream. They're in sunfire territory, so it shouldn't be hard to find.

She can't eat anything; they only have a few bottles of moonberry juice left, and they can't afford to waste supplies. She would scrounge up more berries, but her legs are mush and she doubts she'd be able to focus enough to pick up something not poisonous.

She can't even go to sleep. Out of both her and Callum, she needs less rest, and she had spent ages dragging Callum along after her at a speed he probably wasn't used to. If her legs are falling apart, she can't even imagine how his must feel, and she knows he doesn't run often. The both of them are in no shape to travel any further.

It hurts more than she thought it would, but she’s not sure whether her own injuries or seeing Callum’s is worse.

Her nerves are still pinched from the ordeal with Sol Regem, despite it being long after. They had run for so long and so far they made it into the forest, which she knows is a considerable distance away from the border. When they had finally stopped under the cover of trees, Callum had collapsed almost immediately, and she had fallen against a tree, struggling to breathe. At least Zym had been alright, having done no running himself, and he bound between the two of them, making sure they were alive.

She'd set camp up while Callum stayed and watched Zym, or more like Zym watched Callum. She felt _awful_ because he spent half an hour just trying to be able to breathe again. They couldn't afford a campfire, so she'd mainly tried to get something together for them to sleep on. She'd gotten the bandages out of Callum's backpack and had sat down next to him and wound them around his arm in complete silence, hyperaware of his bare neck and his scarf around hers.

The sky is dark now, stars glittering above. The moon is full enough to give her energy, but she can tell it's starting to wane, which is a bad sign for her. While it normally doesn't affect her too much, with their current situation, she can see it making a huge difference.

Callum is across from her, his sketchbook open and in his lap. He's doodling something with his good hand, and she would try to peek over and see what it is, but she doesn't have the energy to care. Not that she _doesn't care,_ but at the moment, all she cares about is sleep. Just sleep.

But she doesn't think she's able to sleep, which is the most frustrating thing of all. No matter how tried and drained and utterly spent she is, the adrenaline hasn't faded away. She's still remembers coughing up dust in the cave, Callum calling her name despite knowing Sol Regem was after him, the red, hot flames that she had nearly been burned by and that Callum _had_ been burned by--

_'Shut up,'_ she tells her mind.

Her mind doesn't shut up.

She hates being caught up in her thoughts. She hates having to sit under a tree, knowing there is nothing she can do. She hates the wait. In the morning, they can move on. They can get help for Callum and some berries for Zym and some exercise for her. But until then, there is nothing she can do, and it stirs her in a way she can’t describe.

Zym crawls over to her, as if he can sense her internal distress. He worms his way under her arm so his head is tucked under her chin. She leans onto him, squishing her cheek against his mane. She can hear the scratch of Callum's charcoal halt.

"You guys okay?" Callum asks, soft. He doesn't sound or seem worried or concerned, but she believes that's what he wants her to think.

She takes a breathe, inhaling the electric scent around Zym, and just for a second, she thinks it's dust and charred ashes. She snaps her head up and away. "Yeah," she says. It's a flat out lie and she knows it, but she doesn't know how to begin explaining her... ugh... _feelings._

Callum hums and raises his eyebrows. She knows he is onto her, and she knows there is no point in hiding anything, but she's not sure what to say. She grits her teeth. "I just... ugh, I don't know. I can't describe it."

"That's okay," he says, giving her a patient smile. He shouldn't have to do that. He shouldn't have to always wait for her. He shouldn't have to put up with her mess. He shouldn't have to come and rescue her and get himself hurt. She... she doesn't deserve that. Not when she gives nothing in return.

"It's not fair," she whispers, peering down at Zym. He doesn't deserve her either. He shouldn't have to run after her when she puts them in these dangerous situations. He shouldn't have to sit beside her and make sure she's okay. He should be at home with his mother, enjoying his life, and Callum should be with Ezran, safe and happy in Katolis. They are so nice, so caring, so good, and they don't deserve this. "It's not fair."

Callum closes his sketchbook. "You're right. It's not fair. But there's nothing we can do about it." He sighs, and there's a weariness behind his eyes she's never seen before. It's not like when he couldn't do magic. He'd looked lost then. It's not like when he learned of the King's demise. He'd looked sad then. Now, it's... different. He seems tired. They are all tired.

"You should go to sleep," she says quietly, her throat tightening around the words. "You and Zym both. I can take first watch."

He sits up straight. "But Rayla, what about yo--"

"It's fine," she replies, meeting his eyes with a hard gaze. He has protected her, saved her, comforted her, and sacrificed for her, and all she has done for him is put him in danger and wreck his life. He does not deserve her lack of effort. "It's the least I can do."

Callum's hands rest on the top of his sketchbook. "But--"

"No buts. I'm taking first watch."

"But you need sleep too--"

"Why are you pushing so hard?" she snaps, making Zym flinch underneath her. It's not fair how he has to protect her. It's not fair how he has to put her above himself. It's not _fair._ "You've done so much for me already, let me do something for you!"

"But I don't want you to have to suffer for me!"

"Oh," she laughs, though it's not funny, nothing is _funny_ about the situation. "So you can get yourself hurt for me but I can't do the same for you?"

Callum recoils. "I--"

"You're allowed to sacrifice for me but I can't give up anything for you? I don't get it! Do you just not care? Do you not care that if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself?" Her throat is tight now, her chest heaving. She can feel tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she is too angry to care. His scarf burns. "Do you not care that I can't lose you? You mean too much to me! I--"

She stops, abrupt, her anger falling apart, and even she is unsure of what she would’ve said had she continued. She is leaned forward, halfway over Zym, her hands balled into fists by her side. Callum's eyes are blown wide, his mouth opened in shock, _something_ brimming in his eyes. There is surprise, complete shock, but there is no remorse. She brings her hands up into her hair, tugging it up from the roots. "I don't get it. I don't get you! Why..." Her hands pull her hair into her fists. "Why do you... ugh!"

"I don't want to see you get hurt."

His voice is small, meek; she almost misses it. His eyes are downcast, any surprise washed off his face and replaced with... nothing. There is nothing. She cannot read him, and she does not like that. "You shouldn't have to get hurt for me. You can take care of yourself. You... should take care of yourself."

"So should you!" she shouts, hands flying into the air. "What don't you understand? Don't you care that I can't..." she takes a deep breath, chokes on it, tasting rock and ash in her lungs, and she presses her palms over her eyes. "I can't lose you too. I _can't._ Not again. Don't you _care?"_

"Of course I care!" Callum exclaims, shocked by her accusation. "That's why I do all of this for you!"

"Then why don't you care about anyone else?"

"I--" he falls silent. Gradually, he sinks into himself, rounded eyes closing, hands drifting to the ground. "I don't... I... of course I... I care. I care. That's why I..."

In her lap, Zym unfreezes, face tilted up to meet her eyes. She can't offer a smile. She can't. But she does drop her head onto his neck, letting his mane tickle her chin. She circles one arm around him, a silent acknowledgment. She can't offer a smile, she can't pretend to be happy. But she still cares, even if her face is emotionless, eyes trained on the grass, every ounce of feeling she had gone.

"Dark magic," she says, plain and simple. Callum snaps out of whatever panicked trance he was in and looks at her. "That was for me. Wasn't it? You didn't care about doing magic again. That's not what that was about. It was about me, wasn't it?"

Callum's hands shake. She can remember seeing the green goo on them, the crushed remains of the worm that he had _killed._ And then his eyes had flashed purple while he spoke in reverse, and she remembers him falling, and her anger. Her blinding anger, because how could he do that? How could he...?

"I've... I've only ever wanted... to protect Ezran. To keep Zym safe. To make sure you didn't get hurt." Callum says, soft, but his words are not kind. They should be, but they're not. "I don't want to hurt you or anyone I care about. Because I _care_. I do. I... I _care."_ He watches his sketchbook, hands rubbing the cover. He swallows. "I care. That's why... I'd... I'd do anything for you."

"You'd do it again, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he says, instantaneous. He doesn't have to think before he replies. "I'd do anything for you."

A small, _small_ smirk comes onto her face. It's not funny. It's not _funny._ She regrets the joke as soon as she makes it. "Anything huh? What, would you kill someone for me?"

"What?" Callum exclaims, his exaggerated movements returning. "That's... that's a little far!"

"A little?" she chuckles, running her hands through Zym's fur. Her small, _small_ smirk drops. "I won't thank you. I don't like you getting hurt for me. But the sentiment is nice."

"I... okay," he says, breathing in, out. "Okay. We're... we're okay."

"Yeah," she says. They're not perfect. They're not even good. But they are okay, they are still there, they are still going. That is what matters. She will stand by the princes no matter what. She will stand by _her_ princes no matter what.

"Get some rest," she says, picking herself up from Zym. He casts her a look, and she says, "You too, Zym. I'll take first watch."

She sees Callum's mouth move to protest, but he stops himself. "Okay. Okay. Just... make sure you get some sleep yourself, okay?"

"Okay."

It is late. The moon is high in the sky, and they have only a few hours until sunrise. Once the sky is bright again, they will have to get moving, and Rayla is tired.

Later, she will sleep. But for now, she watches, and she waits.

***

It is morning.

Sunlight greets him, filtering in from the leaves on the trees above him. It burns hiseyes; he blinks. He's on his back, and he gently raises his arm up to block the light. The brightness hurts, and he can't stay staring for long, but there are fluffy clouds in the sky and it's a nice reminder of what he's accomplished. The sky isn't so different in Xadia than it is in Katolis.

When he sits up, his hand flies to his neck, but there's no scarf there. He whips his head around and finds Rayla, curled up on her side and snuggling with Zym, and the red gleam around her neck. It's weird not feeling his scarf. He's been wearing it for years, and all the sudden, she is. He's not opposed to it though. Callum thinks he likes seeing it on her more than himself.

There is not much to do but wake them up, but he finds himself not wanting to. After last night when she had offered to stay awake so he could get rest, she deserves every second of it she can get. As does Zym. All he can do now is wait.

The sunlight streams in from the leaves, and Callum is bored.

He could draw. His sketchbook is right there, and it's not like he has anything better to do. It would be a good way to pass the time. But for some reason, his hand won't move to grab it. He'll keep staring at it like it's going to grow legs and walk away, but he won't actually get it. Plus, he'll become too absorbed in his artwork he'll forget to take watch, and Rayla will get angry at him for that, like she did the other day.

Speaking of watch, when did Rayla fall asleep? She should've woken him up if she was going to rest. That had always been the system. Why break it now? Was it an accident? Aww, that'd be cute. Wait no, wha--

"Ugh," Callum groans, burying his head into his knees. So much for distracting himself. There is nothing to do, and Callum is bored and lonely.

_"Then why don't you care about anyone else?"_

He does care, he does. Of course he does! If he didn't, he wouldn't have done dark magic. But then he thinks back to how everything had gone quiet, like white noise was in his ears, and he'd been so focused on _Rayla, Rayla, Rayla_ he didn't think about the creature. He didn't think about Claudia, or Soren, or Ezran, or the guards, or even the dragon, just _Rayla, Rayla, Rayla._

But of course he cared! He still cared about Claudia and her apprehension and her wariness. He still cared about Soren, standing off to the side and watching him, waiting for him. He still cared about Ezran, who he left behind, who he knew was doing his best to stay calm. He still cared about the magical grubs life!

But if he cared, he wouldn't have done it, would he?

_“Do you not care that if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself?"_

But _why?_ It shouldn’t matter what happens to him. If she’s okay, if Zym is okay, if Ezran is okay, why does Callum have to be? If he saves them, it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t.

But it does. It matters anyways, maybe not to him, but it matters to _her._ And he cares, he cares about her thoughts and feelings, he _cares._

_"I can't lose you too. I can't. Not again. Don't you care?"_

Why doesn’t he care?

_"I'd do anything for you."_

_"Anything huh? What, would you kill someone for me?"_

No, no, he does care. If he didn’t, there would be no limit, and there _is_ a limit. He won’t harm anyone, he won’t hurt anyone, he won’t kill anyone!

...

But he killed the grub, didn’t he?

He stands up with a start, immediately regretting it. His legs burn. He’s had to run some laps before because Soren would make him, and he’d always be dying for breath after one. And now, he’d just run for maybe a mile, maybe _over_ a mile, with no break. Nonstop sprinting for his life after almost never running before.

His legs feel like jelly. He’s surprised they’re holding him up at all, and he leans against a tree for support. One step, and he’s sure his knee is going to give out. The back of his legs feel like he’s been stabbed (not that he would know what being stabbed feels like, but he imagines it’s something similar). It hurts almost enough for him to forget about his arm.

Keyword being almost.

It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would now; Rayla wrapping it in bandages probably helps a little. He can feel the itchy cloth rub against the burn, and it’s irritating, but he’ll take it over pain. His arm faintly throbs and stings, but it’s better than he thought it would be. Maybe he’s still numb on some adrenaline. Maybe his legs are taking priority in his brain. But it’s okay.

He’s okay.

Trembling, he makes his way over to his backpack. There’s not much he can do, but he knows that the last time they got water was a while ago, if ever. With shaky hands, he unzips the bag. Rayla’s ears twitch, but she stays asleep. He rummages around, and he finds an almost empty glass bottle.

They have a couple bottles of moonberry juice, but this one is nearly gone, a little remaining on the bottom. He uncorks it and downs the rest, and his mouth suddenly feels less dry.

He looks back at Rayla and Zym, sleeping peacefully. He’s never seen Rayla look so content. He’s seen her happy, he’s seen her sad, but he’s never seen her... blissful. He’s never seen her at ease. It’s nice not seeing the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept choking on her breath the other day, the way she looked ahead with determination and dragged them along the desert. He likes her happiness. It makes him happy too, knowing she’s okay.

And Zym is curled up close to her, her head resting above his head. It’s hard to believe that the cutie will someday grow up to be as big and mighty and Sol Regem. He can’t imagine him as a huge, scary dragon. He’s too soft for that.

The sunlight streams in from the leaves, and Callum walks away.

There is a river nearby. He remembers Rayla shouting something about one yesterday while they were running; she’d said they were running until they found it. They didn’t get that far, but if he can hear it, they got close enough.

He might as well go to get water. The rest of their bottles are filled with moo berry juice, and while a lot of that is made up of water, it’s not the same. They need it for other things too: putting out a campfire, washing their hair and faces, even brushing their teeth. And if it’s cold enough, it might help his burn as well.

The river is not far. The trees clear around it, creating a clearing for just the water. It’s so blue, so clear; he’s never seen a river this _nice_ before. The waves sparkle in the early morning light, and he sees tiny fish swimming along the current. It stretches for a while, over the horizon, and he can’t wait to get back to sketch it. Oh, he can imagine the fun Zym would be having here. He’d be splashing around, oh, they could have a water fight, like he and Ezran used to!

_Okay,_ he thinks, shaking his head. _Focus._

He stumbles, moving a twig out of his way. The rapids are right there, and he stands along the river bank, and he leans down to get water.

“So I was talking to Axel the other night...”

Distant voices. Distant voices! Callum jumps back, but his legs can’t support him, and he crashes onto the ground. Using his arms, he scrambles for some sort of leverage, and he throws himself back into the forest. His arm now burns, his legs hurt, and he’s pretty sure he can’t stand up, but he’s mostly hidden behind a bush so it’s okay.

It’s not okay.

“...and he said something about Sol Regem? Now, I obviously hope nothing bad happened.” Out steps a group of elves, dressed in reds and oranges and yellows, with chocolate skin and marks that glow in the sun. If he has to guess, he’d guess sunfire.

“But...?”

“But, if someone managed to outsmart him? And the,” his voice hushes, _“rumors,_ are true? What’s going to come of Xadia?”

“I’m sure Regina Draconis will handle it. And if not, there’s no way a human could last long here.”

They know. Sol Regem must’ve done something, must’ve gotten free, must’ve sent a message. They’ve probably been ordered to be hunted, to be _killed_ on sight because they _know._

He suddenly feels more vulnerable, more out in the open. Will the shadows of trees hide him enough from the elves? What if they don’t? What if they can sense him like Sol Regem could?

“Woo!” one of the elves shouts, and they run towards the river and spring off the grass, cannonballing into the water. The others follow, and they cheer and splash each other in the river.

Crap. The elves seem to be there to stay, and Callum needs to get back to camp. Oh, why’d he leave? He shouldn’t have left. He’s so stupid, and now his legs are too weak to carry him and he’s too tired and in pain to think straight and come up with some master plan to get out of the situation.

He came here for water. The whole point of leaving was for the water they desperately need, especially if there’s more desert. He’s tired and hungry and thirsty, and he came here for water. He’s going to get it.

His brain is muddled by the burn of his arm and the back of his legs. He is tired from his argument with Rayla the other night. He is hungry and thirsty from having no food other than moonberry juice since they left the Moon Nexus. He wants water, and he _is_ going to get it.

He pulls himself to his feet. It is hard and it is painful, and he has to lean onto a tree just to stand, but he is standing and that is the point. The bottle is in his hand, and his hands are shaking but he undoes the cap. He glances towards the elves. They are caught up in their fun, and he prays they don’t notice him. He prays something goes right for once.

With a final, deep breath, he steps towards the river, planning on picking up some water and ducking away. But because it’s him, it doesn’t work that way.

His knee gives out, and he crashes into the river in a heap. The water is chilling, but not cold enough to harm him, but he was not prepared and does not have enough breath. He struggles to put the cap on the water bottle, the current pushing his already shaking hands and his arm hurting from being held up. But the cap slides into position.

He can make out the elves wandering over to where he splashed, and he is drifting downstream to where they were before. So much for not being noticed.

He can feel his lungs constricting, them wanting oxygen, his arms and legs going numb. He can see black spots start to dance at the edges of his vision, and he is running out of air, he is running out of sky, and it’s like that time in his dream where he was drowning, he was dying. He _is_ dying, and there is nothing he can do about it.

With his good arm, the one that holds the bottle, he tries to swim up. He kicks his legs, and it hurts, it hurts to swim against the current with his shattered legs, but what other choice does he have? The elves are right there, he’ll be revealed, but there is no other choice.

The surface is too far away. It is too far, and he is begging for air, he’s resorted to using his burned arm as well, his legs wanting to give up. He is drowning, he is _drowning,_ and he can’t even save himself. Weak. Pathetic. His tears add to the water, his lungs instinctively taking a small, small breath in and it’s water and now he’s choking and drowning and _dying—_

His hand breaks surface first, the warm rush of air greeting his fingertips. With one final kick, his head bobs up too, and he gasps for breath. Oxygen has never tasted so sweet, and the sky surrounds him again. His legs don’t want to support him anymore and he falls back down for a second, his mouth hitting the water, and he panically kicks back up. The glass bottle is cold in his hands, clenches so tightly in his fist he’s surprised the glass isn’t broken. But there is water inside, cool, crisp water that he nearly died for.

“Oh my gosh!” he hears someone shout, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“He fell in?”

“Well no duh!”

The elves. Crap. Crap, _crap,_ crap! Kicking his tired legs, he drags himself over to the riverbank, nearly coughing on the way. His arms don’t want to be lifted, but he grabs onto the edge. The current nearly sweeps his off, but his grip stays firm, and he tries to push up. His elbows give up, and his lower body tumbles down the river. But in doing so, he is facing the elves.

“Sir? Sir are you... wait...” he hears a sharp gasp. “It’s a human?”

“It’s a human!”

“The rumors are true?”

“Yes, you idiot. Now get him!”

No, he wants to say. Wait. But he tries and chokes on water in his lungs, and the elves are running over, they are going to get him and it’s all over. His arms can’t drag him up. His legs are useless. There is nothing he can do, he can’t do anything, and there are tears that prick his eyes and his legs hurt, his arms hurt, hiseverything hurts.

But the bottle is still clenched in his hand, and he did not come this far to give up now.

He pulls himself back over to the edge. His arms are in pain, but he uses them anyways because there is no other option. There is no other option but to push himself up on broken arms and choke on water in the place of air and stand on shaky legs. There is no other option because the elves are only a little ways away, they could almost reach out and grab him.

He throws himself onto the first step, his leg not wanting to hold up his weight, his knee nearly crumbling. His foot is blistered, his calf is burning, and he is in pain, but he makes it through the step and onto the next. It’s not much better, but slowly, surely, he is remembering how to run.

“Hey! Come back!”

His clothes are drenched and heavy, twigs cutting into his cheeks, but the bottle is still held tightly in his hand. The adrenaline of being caught and of almost drowning is probably the only reason he’s running. He can hear the elves behind him, but they don’t seem to be soldiers, just a random friend group who came out for a good time, which Callum ruined. But they chase him nonetheless.

He already cannot breathe, water in his lungs and his lack of stamina failing him. He is sure that every time he takes a step, it will be the one that he collapses on. The elves shout, and he forces himself to speed up. He’s not sure whether it’s adrenaline, determination, or fear making him run, but he’s running and that’s good. Camp should only be a little ways away-

_“Rayla!”_ he screams, bursting into the small clearing of their camp. He tries to stop, but he trips over his feet, landing on his knees in the dirt. Rayla stirs and Zym just snores, and he scrambles over. He shakes her shoulder. “Wake up!”

“Wha—“ she mumbles, half asleep. Her eyes open blearily, the violet color dulled by his shadow. Callum, a little more gently, shakes Zym as well.

“We have to go!” he exclaims, and seeing her waking up, he rushes over to their backpack. The zipper is open from when he left it, and he picks up his sketchbook that was lying on the grass and shoves it in. The cold bottle in his hand is also dropped into the backpack. But when he reaches the zipper, his hands are shaking and freezing, and he can’t get it to move. But they have to go, they should’ve left five minutes ago, and he can’t zip! up! the! stupid! pack!

“Move, you dumb human,” Rayla says, and she pushes him out of the way. But when she reaches for the zipper, they hear the cries of the elves behind them.

He flies over to Zym, scooping him up into his arms that burn. He blinks at him, confused, and Callum gives him a smile. Everything will be fine. He doesn’t have to worry. Callum can do enough of that for him.

“Callum,” Rayla says, dangerous tone, “what did you DO?!”

He wants to explain, but his lungs choose that moment to constrict on water and he chokes, his breath already coming in short gasps from sprinting away. Zym pats his cheek, concerned. His lungs are stabbing his throat, and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to speak if he wanted to. He manages to gesture that they need to move, and Rayla takes the hint.

He glances behind her and sees the shadows of the elves, angry and confused. He starts to step backwards, Rayla swinging the open pack onto her shoulder, and she rushes over to him. She grabs his arm, and they turn to run away from their camp.

There’s a soft thump of something on the ground, but they are already ten steps away, and Rayla whips her head around. “Oh!” she exclaims, and he stops long enough to peek behind him.

The two other bottles, the ones of moonberry juice, lay in the grass, the pinkish color a contrast to the red. Rayla jumps to begin to go back for them, but he sees the shadows of the elves illuminated by the sunlight. They are here, and they are out of time.

He makes a quick decision. Callum grabs her arm, her face whipping around towards him, and he yells, “Leave them!”

Her eyes narrow, but she complies, and she tugs him into another sprint for their lives, leaving their only source of food behind.

***

Even Rayla is tired.

Elves are supposed to have more stamina than humans. They are designed for survival, and she has been specifically trained to thrive in these environments. She has devoted years of her life to gaining a higher stamina, higher strength, higher speed.

But there is nothing more she wants to do then curl up into a ball and fall asleep.

She is out of breath. She cannot breathe in deep enough to get oxygen but her short breaths stab her throat. Her legs are shaky and wobbling, her supposed “higher strength” failing her. _Weak,_ she thinks, and her already tight throat somehow seems tighter. She is _weak._

Callum’s own legs give out and he crashes to his knees, coughing violently. She is gasping for breath, leaning against the bark of a tree, Zym looking between the two, unsure of who or how to help. Callum is choking on water, his clothes are drenched and his hair sticks to his face; she cannot tell if it’s because of sweat or water.

Swallowing down her own strangled breath, she finds a way to walk over to him. Her hands hover over him, unsure of how to help as he is struggling to breathe in front of her, his chest heaving with coughs. She places her hand on his back and fights against her own itch to cough, and when she tries to lean down, she falls onto her knees. Callum’s elbow is on the ground and his head is rested on it while he is doubled over, and Zym is on his other side, paws clutched around his arm.

It reminds her of that time with dark magic, when he had been gasping for breath and squirming next to her, her cuddling him close because she thought if she let go, she’d lose him. It reminds her of the time when she was _weak_ and had to be saved. A time where she had to rely on others because she was too weak to save herself. She was weak then, and she is weak now.

Callum finally and luckily stops heaving, breaths turning slow and deep. He sits up and tosses his head backwards towards the sky, taking in as much oxygen with his eyes closed as he can. She watches, her own breath slowly returning to her as her lungs stab her throat.

Callum sighs, and he lifts his arm and runs his hand through his hair, tugging it up. “Okay. Okay. We’re okay.”

They’re alive. They made it away, the elves gave up on chasing them, and they are still together. Zym is still across from her, Callum is still beside her, and that is all that matters. They have each other, they have their backpack, they have food—

No. No, they don’t have food. Shit. They don’t have food! Rayla brings her own hands into her hair and yanks it, groaning in frustration. They already haven’t eaten since... when?...

...They haven’t eaten since before they freed the dragon, have they? They haven’t eaten since the dark magic incident? No, no, they must have? Did they? She can’t remember. They wouldn’t have had anything after because they were crossing the border, and then they didn’t have anything when they were running from Sol Regem, they didn’t eat after that either, and now their food is _gone._

They haven’t eaten in three days and their food is gone.

Okay. Okay, they can survive without food for a little while. Four hours without shelter, four days without water, and about three weeks and a half without food. That’s the basic rule, but it varies for elf to elf; ocean and earth elves need more water, star and sun need less, moonshadow don’t need as much shelter, and startouch don’t need as much food. But for humans and baby dragons and even her after all this running with little rest, she’s sure it’s much lower.

“Do you know,” she says between gasps, “how long you can survive without food?”

“Three weeks,” Callum replies. “It’s three weeks without food, three days without water, three hours without shelter, and three minutes without oxygen.”

She nods. “Okay. I can go a little longer than that, but with all this running...”

Water shouldn’t be too big of a problem once they get further into Xadia. Sunfire territory is drier, but most towns will have markets that will sell it for low prices. They might not be able to take showers or brush their teeth, but at least they won’t dehydrate.

Shelter isn’t that bad either. There’s many towns and caves in sunfire and earth territory, and the forest will also do. They’ve been surviving so far sleeping even on the forest ground, and the weather is nice and warm for summertime, so hopefully that won’t be much of a problem either.

Though to be honest, food isn’t too big of a problem either. Sure, not a lot of berries grow out in the wild and there’s not many animal creatures in sunfire territory because it’s too dry, but towns typically tend to sell food. When she really thinks about it, they’ll probably be okay.

Yeah. They should actually be okay.

“Three everything works out a bit nicer, huh?” she asks, and Callum looks at her, confused. “Ya know, how it’s three minutes, three days...”

“Oh, yeah,” Callum says with a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, it’s easier to remember.”

“I didn’t know humans could survive that long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know...” she drums her fingers on the grassy floor, “It’s just... we’re told all these stories about how supposedly weak humans are, not that I believe them!” She waves her hands, frantic, and Callum raises an eyebrow. “It’s just... yeah there’s no saving this.”

Contrary from what she thinks Callum will do, he starts laughing. After days of running and surviving, his laughter is such a nice sound, loud and bright, and she finds herself laughing along too. She’s not sure what’s funny, but his laugh is contagious; even Zym is bobbing his head along, and it’s light and happy and a welcome change.

But then he cuts of abruptly, staring off at something behind her. She whips her head around and puts her hands to her blades, but there’s... nothing there. When she turns back around, he’s still gazing, but his open mouth and wide eyes might not be fear. When she looks closely, it almost looks like awe.

“Um...” she waves her hand in front of his face. “Callum? Hello...?”

He doesn’t reply. He presses his arms against the floor and moves to sit on his feet, and then slowly, very slowly, he stands. She can see his legs shake, but he stands, still staring straight ahead. She watches him take a step, his knees shaking, him reaching out to touch the tree next to him. He drags his fingers along the bark as he takes another, and she watches him, little by little, walk over to the gaps between two trees.

It reminds her of that time with dark magic, where’d he woken up and flown into a rant about the deeper meaning of the arcanum. A time where she’d watchedhim step out onto the edge of the cliff, taking in a deep breath of oxygen. A time where she’d watched in awe as he performed magic, blowing a spiral of air in front of him. A time where even though she hadn’t done anything, she felt proud just to be watching.

A time where she’d started to care. A time where she’d started to be weak.

She picks her own self up, and it hurts; her legs burn and her throat feels like she’s breathing through sandpaper, but she makes it. Zym bounds over to Callum and she trails behind, watching him slowly crawl towards the outside. He stops by the trees at the edge of the forest, and she can see what he’s looking at.

The sky splits into pinks and blues, the end of sunrise upon them. Beyond that, the land becomes dry and rocky, forming a cliff beyond where the trees stop. From their height, she can see far into Xadia, almost all of the sunfire territory nearby them. There are trees scattered around, forming deep green blobs, and she can see the faint outlines of buildings that make up towns. There’s mountains in the distance, she can see the desert they ran through and if she squints, she can even make out the fiery border. It’s a pretty sight, but she’s not one to marvel.

Though it appears Callum and Zym are.

The only time she has seen Callum’s eyes shine as bright was when he first did that _fulminis_ spell. He’d been in awe and proud and so, so happy then, and he is the same now. It’s as if he’s never seen color before, and she finds herself staring at him instead of the sights.

Zym is similar. His tongue is hanging out of his mouth, his big, blue eyes sparkling. For once, he’s not wagging his tail or jumping up and down or patting her leg; all of his energy is focused on the sigh before them.

Zym trots forward first, paws leaving prints in the sandy ground, dust kicked up in little puffs. He walks to the edge of the cliff, staring out at the ground beneath them. It’s strange to watch him take the lead, but it’s fascinating as well.

Callum stays behind, watching from afar, and she goes over to Zym and, although it makes her legs hurt and her knees burn and reminds her of her weakness, she crouches beside him and runs her hand through his mane.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she asks softly, her smile warm and gentle. Zym leans into her hand, grinning happily. There is static in his mane, and she’s pretty sure she could do a lightning spell if she wanted to.

“Xadia is...” Callum says, but he doesn’t finish, eyes catching on the landscape before them. There are sand mountains and sunfire mines and a waterfall to their left. From right to left it gradually changes from dry to lively, sandy to grassy, yellows and oranges changing to greens and blues. They are on the outskirts of earthblood territory, but with them currently standing on sand, they’re actually in the sunfire region.

She points to a blob in the distance, outlines making out rectangles and squares and weird shapes she doesn’t know the name of. “That’s Ignis Est, one of the smaller sunfire towns. It’s the closest town to us, so we can stop there for supplies.”

Callum hums, but then a cheeky grin breaks out across his face, one she’s missed. “You know how you dressed up like a human?”

“Yes...?” She doesn’t like where this is going.

Callum smirks wider. “Does this mean I’ll get to dress up like an elf?”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Aww... c’mon!” He shakes her shoulder lightly. “I can pull of an elf impression!”

“Sure...” she teases, grabbing his hand and slipping it off her shoulder. Zym looks at Callum with a raised eyebrow. “Even Zym thinks you can’t.”

Callum pouts, but something makes him brighten once again. “Oh! Speaking of supplies...”

He reaches for the backpack she’s still carrying, rummages around through its contents. She waits, patient. She’s not sure what he’s looking for; as far as she’s concerned, the only thing in the pack now is his sketchbook.

But to her surprise, Callum pulls out a bottle, one of the three that used to hold moonberry juice, and it’s for a second she thinks it’s empty. Then it catches the light, and she can see clear, crisp water sloshing around inside. Her hands almost reach out to snatch it, and it hits her how long they’ve gone without water. At the very least, it’s been a day.

But moonberry juice was their only source of nutrients, wasn’t it? It’s all they’ve been having so far since it’s what she carried and it’s made up of water and berries. They didn’t have water before, not before Callum pulled it out of the backpack. That must be why he’s drenched; he went to get water. But if he just got water, and moonberry juice is all they’ve been having, and they haven’t had that in _days—_

No, no, they must’ve had it, right? If they hadn’t, that would mean they haven’t had water in _three days._ Callum would be _dead,_ and she would certainly be feeling the effects. She just must’ve forgotten, that must be it. She just forgot.

When she brings her hands up to grab the bottle of water, her hands are shaking.

“I figured we could use it to clean off,” Callum explains, and she is reminded of the dirt sticking to her face. But that’s not her priority.

“Callum,” she says, mouth drier than she remembers it being, “when was the last time we had water?”

He blinks. “Um... well I had the last of the moonberry juice in that bottle,” he taps the glass with his nail, “today.” He smiles a little, though there’s circles under his eyes, “And I probably drank some when I fell into the river.”

“You fell into the— nevermind.” She sets her hands in her lap and they tremble, shaky and _weak,_ why are they so weak? Has it been a day since she had food? Two days? Three days? She remembers eating before the dragon incident, long before it but still that same day. But that was three days ago. When was the last time she ate? When was the last time she had showered?

When was the last time she had drank water?

“Rayla?” Callum asks, and Zym rubs his head against her arm. “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t know how to answer that. She is alive, yes; they all are. But her legs are burning and her face is coated in dirt from when rocks had nearly crushed her to death; her throat is cold and dry and she hasn’t eaten in three days, probably hasn’t had water in three days, and she is...

Falling apart. Isn’t she? She’s falling apart. She’s not okay. Nothing about their situation is _okay._

With shaking hands, she manages to unscrew the cap of the bottle, and she puts her lips to the glass. The water is cool and flavorless but it tastes like heaven after _days_ of nothing. There is nothing she wants more than to drink the rest, nothing but cold, tasteless water in her mouth, but she has restraint. She gasps, quiet, and then she puts the cap back on.

It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough, she didn’t even drink half of the bottle, but it’ll do. It has to.

Is she okay? No. No, she’s not, she’s honestly not. But she’ll keep going, because that’s all she can do. She’ll see the mission through no matter what.

“Yeah,” she answers, and she rises to her feet. Her knees may burn, her lungs may scream, but she is alive and she is standing, and that is all that matters.

She looks to Zym, bright blue eyed Zym, and Callum, patient smile Callum, and she says, “I’m okay.”

Together, they step away from the edge and back into the forest.


	2. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have nothing. No food, no water, no supplies at all. She’s dying in her own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my school said ‘ight ima head out’ and closed for the rest of the year so,,,,,,, writing time?
> 
> *anyways like i said b4 this was started long before s3 but i didn’t finish until after so plot points are v different. i’ll find a way to incorporate moments from s3 like the storm spire battle and maybe nyx but everything else is mostly different and those things will be different to fit this world too  
> *like for instance the dragon queen isn’t dying and the dragon guard is v different and is still around, not the same ppl of the original one but there’s still a dragon guard
> 
> *so this is kinda a season 3 rewrite which is fine by me bc i didn’t rly love season 3 that much anyways
> 
> *and rayllum said canon rights in canon but they haven’t said canon rights in here (yet) so um yeah
> 
> *lets play a game : try to guess which parts i wrote at a reasonable time and which parts i wrote at 12 am while my brain was mrgggggggggg
> 
> *also half of this was written back in november 2019 and half of it end of march so sorry if things don’t seem as connected as they did before. i’m kinda getting back into the mindset for this story and relearning where the characters are at this point
> 
> *warnings for this chapter!! mental breakdowns, descriptions of injuries, bandages, swearing, and all around angst bc there’s too many fluff fics after s3 so i am here to deliver your daily dose of sadness

This has got to be the stupidest idea they’ve ever had.

Granted, holding Callum’s hand and waving it in Sol Regem’s face was a stupid idea, and getting angry at Sol Regem and bringing up his past was a stupid idea, and pretty much every idea they’ve had while on this mission has been a stupid idea, but she doesn’t even know _what_ this is. This has got to be on a whole other level, there is absolutely _no way_ this works out in their favor, she can’t even _believe_ —

“All me best mates are trees!”

Yeah. She’s so done. She should’ve just let herself die of dehydration, honestly _somebody_ throw her off that cliff right now.

Callum has stuffed his sleeves with leaves and he somehow managed to make a sort of crown to hold "horns" out of what they have. She has to place specific emphasis on the quotation marks around "horns" because they _barely_ count; in fact, she's pretty sure he picked up two fallen tree branches and called it a day. The band covers his ears at the very least, but his fingers are still exposed, and his accent is terrible. How hard can it be to act like an elf?

“Okay... so I’m going to do all the talking,” she says, Zym nodding along beside her, though he gives Callum an encouraging look. “In fact, I’m probably going to be doing everything.” She points her finger at him. Maybe this can work? “You focus on keeping your hands hidden, got it?”

“Okay!” Callum agrees, bright and cheery, almost bouncing on his toes.

She takes it back. There is no way this works.

“Why’d you have to pick earthblood?” she asks, gesturing up and down his disguise. “They’re going to get suspicious when you act nothing like one.”

“Well then, what are earthblood elves like?” he questions, rocking back and forth on his heels. She finds herself wondering if he somehow knew she was going to ask that, and if he did it just to get more information on elves.

Yep. She’s definitely paranoid.

“A lot more stoic than you are,” she says. “You should’ve dressed like a skywing. You act like one of those.”

“How do skywing elves act?”

“Like you,” she replies, and she grabs his wrist. “Let’s get moving before you manage to mess up your disguise before we even get there.”

The town isn’t far; they’d stopped along the outskirts of the forest, and Ignis Est is close by, probably the closest sunfire town to the woods. It’s small, but she can see how lively it it, feel how it’s a community.

It’s mainly made up of sunfire elves, so their presence (especially hers, being a moonshadow elf) makes them stand out more than she likes, but she doesn’t think anyone will look at them too closely. There’s small buildings made of dirt and mud littered around the clearing, no bigger than the area around the dragon she saved.

There are children running around, women doing laundry and men manning stalls, girls sparring and boys sitting around chatting. There’s a well in the center, probably their only source of water, and brick paths line the streets. It’s a stark contrast to her hometown, but it’s not a _bad_ change, per se. Every building is closer together, and families and friends mingle around, the whole town buzzing with energy. She's just... not used to it.

She leads Callum inside by the cuff of his jacket, Zym hidden away in their backpack, Callum glancing around, way too excited. She pinches his wrist and he seems to take the hint. There’s a bounce to his step that remains, and she prays none of the other elves notice.

She glances around the market section. She’s not entirely sure what she’s looking for; there’s lots of flashy metal items, which makes sense because it’s a sunfire town. They’re known for their smithing. But they don’t need fancy jewelry; they need actual supplies.

They need water first. They’ll go without food if they have to, but water they can’t afford to not have. And she had mentioned getting some sort of burn cream for Callum, and some new bandages would be nice too. If they can manage to find one, another backpack could also be useful.

There’s a stand placed in front of the well, white, metal cups stacked on the counter. There’s not a line, not at this time of day, and she drags Callum towards it.

When they approach, the salesperson flashes a bright smile. “Greetings, lads! Would you like some water?”

“Yes,” she nods. Callum nods his head as well, a little over eager, and she pinches him through his jacket. His smile strains as she does, and she turns back to the salesperson.

He holds out his hand. “One copper piece then, please.”

She blinks. Once. Twice.

“Um... what?”

“You heard me. One copper piece.”

“You... you have to _pay_... to drink water?”

“Yes,” the salesperson says, dragging out the syllable, like it’s common knowledge that everyone knows. Like it makes any sense at all. “Of course you do. Water is limited around here, you can’t just _take it._ ”

Something bubbles inside her, confusion, frustration maybe, because what kind of logic is that? Paying for the basic necessities you need to survive, that’s such a _weird_ , wild, out of this world concept. She knows some towns use currency; most trade but coins are technically a type of trade and sunfire elves can use them in their forges, but paying for water? What’s next, paying for food? Paying for shelter? Paying for oxygen?

“You need water to survive,” she says. “Why would you charge for it?”

“Look,” the salesperson sighs, and he gives them a sympathetic glance. She doesn’t want his pity, but his voice is soft. “I do want to help you. I honestly do. You guys look like you’ve been through some shit. But if I can’t break the rules for other people, I can’t break the rules for you.”

“That’s understandable,” Callum replies, not bothering to push an accent into his words. And he’s not wrong. She hates it, it’s so backwards and stupid and _of course_ the universe throws this into their path to make their lives more difficult, but he’s not wrong. It’s not fair, though.

It’s not fair.

She grabs hold of Callum’s wrist, maybe to lead him, maybe to stabilize herself, but she offers a nod to the salesperson and they walk away. Callum leans close to her ear (and it doesn’t make her shiver. It doesn’t) and he asks, “I thought elves traded?”

“Most do,” she replies. “Sunfire towns sometimes trade copper and silver pieces like coins because they can use them.”

“Use them?”

“You know, in smithing.”

Callum hums, eyes trailing to their connected hands. She changes her grip to his jacket sleeve and not his wrist as she scouts around. If they charged for water, she’s pretty much positive they’ll charge for everything else, and she doesn’t have any money. She’s sure Callum doesn’t have any money. Zym doesn’t have any money. They’re broke.

And if she’s being honest, and she hates to admit it, but they’re desperate. Not quite _‘I’d kill for a single drop of water’_ desperate, but her throat is drier than the desert they ran through to flee Sol Regem, and her legs are one wrong step away from giving out. She’s starting to feel hungry, her stomach twisting in on itself, and she does her best to hide it from Callum, but she won’t be able to forever. Then she’ll have to deal with his concern, and that’s worse than anything else.

They need the water, or some sort of food, something, _anything_. She will take literally _anything_ so long as it helps them in some way. They haven’t eaten in three days, haven’t rest in two, and she had went _three days_ without water. They need _something_. _Anything_.

And the salesperson is busy with another customer. They must be a local because they seem casual, locked in conversation, not focused on the well behind them. They have a bottle. It’s half full, but anything helps.

Callum sees where her eyes go, sees her watching the well, and his gaze falls cold, calculated. “Rayla, we can’t—“

“We need it,” she whispers, staring at the well. It would be so easy. She could slip past, even in the light of day, even when there was nothing to hide behind. She could do it. She could pull it off.

Callum puts his hands on her shoulders. “Rayla—“

“Callum, we _need_ it,” she stresses, turning to face him, pleas foaming in her mouth. She hates it, she hates the idea of going against someone, breaking the rules, but they _need_ it. They literally won’t survive without it.

“We can get water somewhere else—“

“No, _no_ , we can’t. Do you see any other rivers around? You heard what he said, water is scarce in sunfire territory. You have to _pay_ to drink it.” She hates begging, hates needing permission, but Callum is the one with the backpack.

“Rayla,” Callum says, but his eyes flicker back to the stand, and she can tell he’s thinking about it. If she does it, they only have a few more seconds to make a decision.

He looks back to her, _something_ in his eyes, and he whispers, “Be quick.”

With a nod, she moves to his back, unclipping the backpack. Zym’s bright blue eyes meet hers, and she does her best to convey a ‘shush’ without actually shushing. She reaches around him and finds the glass bottle, and as fast as she can, she hides it in her belt. Callum closes the backpack, and she’s already stepping towards the well.

She stays a good distance away, eyes flickering to make it seem like she’s just looking around, but she keeps her gaze pointed in the direction of the salesperson. She reaches into her belt, uncapping the bottle, hoping to swiftly dunk it into the well and fill it. The well is closing in, and there’s nobody around.

She reaches the well, heart pumping in her ears. As discreetly and quickly as she can manage, she leans down and scoops water into the bottle. It’s easy, a little too easy, but perhaps the universe finally took pity on them.

_Ha_ , what a joke.

“Hey!” someone shouts, a bystander, authorities, she doesn’t know, but her ears twitch and she shoves the cap into the bottle. It’s too late; there’s two guys dressed in what she assumes to be guard uniforms staring her down. One of them is pointing at her, the other poised to run.

She recognizes the signs, and she glances at Callum, who’s watching her with worry, and she turns on her heel and sprints into the street behind her.

She hears the guards shout, registers the pounding of her footsteps, something in the back of her mind screaming at her that she just left Callum and Zym, but she doesn’t care. Her legs immediately flare up with pain, every step spiking lightning up her leg. There’s nothing she can do but run, and she hears the guards on her tail.

Bottle of water clenched in her hand, Rayla dashes through the streets, taking care to avoid the civilians. She’s forced to jump over a crate and it burns; when she lands, her knee crumbles, and for a second, she doesn’t have the strength to straighten it again.

She makes a turn, planning to double back to the center, grab Callum and Zym, and get the heck out of there. She’s not sure how much they care about their water, so who knows whether they’ll be chased, but she hopes they let them leave. Since they’re not from the town, she doubts if she gets caught, they’ll jail her or anything, but anything is possible and at this point, she doesn’t trust things to go well.

She turns again into another straight road, this one leading back to the well. In the distance, she can make out the blue of Callum’s jacket, but his scarf is missing. Then she remembers it’s still fluttering around her neck, coated in dirt and sweat, but it’s there.

The area is clear, the path to Callum devoid of any people, and Rayla forces herself to speed up, forces herself to go harder. If she can make it to him, they can get out of here. If she can make it to him, they can survive.

A guard slides into her view.

Rayla cannot stop, her momentum is too much, and she sees the red uniform right before she crashes into it. There’s a blinding pain in her body, and it’s enough to make her forget everything else, her _everything_ somehow managing to hurt even more. She hears the sound of shattering glass, the guards behind her shouting, and she feels herself whack back into the concrete path. It sends a ripple throughout her core, and for a second, she can’t breathe, as if her lungs forgot how to function.

She gasps for breath, and the guards are yelling about her stealing water, making her out to be some criminal when she was just trying to _live_ , and she reaches for the bottle.

But the bottle is nothing more than glass on the pavement.

Broken into pieces, the glass shines, the ground damp around it. In the reflection, she sees herself, hair wild and matted, dirt coating her cheeks, bruises and cuts lining every inch of skin. The water is gone, the bottle is crushed, and Rayla feels any last ounce of hope drain out of her heart.

That was all they had. That was it. That half- full for a _minute_ \- bottle of water was it. They need bandages for Callum’s arm, as well as some sort of burn cream. They need enough food to sustain a growing baby dragon, as well as two people. They need water to be able to survive.

They had it. For a second, they had it. Callum had risked his life for it, and her... her _greed_ took it away. She got too sloppy, too desperate, and now they have _nothing_.

No shelter. No food. No water.

Rayla cries.

She feels it first, a sob ripping through her body, her chest heaving. Breath has already been stolen from her lungs, and the cry only makes it worse, but once she starts, she can’t stop. Her tears streak down her cheeks, her hands and knees shaking, her throat closing in on itself. Slowly, she wraps her arms around her knees, burying her face into them, because god, she’s weak, isn’t she?

She was too weak to get them more water. She was too weak to not get caught. And now, she’s too weak to find another solution, to keep them going, and it hits her, so abrupt, that they’re going to _die_ because of her. They can’t survive without water. Food they can manage. Even shelter they might’ve been okay. But water is the one thing they need, the one thing they depend on, and she had ripped it away from them and smashed it on the ground.

They have nothing. No food, no water, no supplies at all. She’s dying in her own home.

One of the guards puts their hand on her shoulder. “What, upset because you got caught?”

For a second, she’s struck by anger, an urge to reach for her blades and drive it into his neck, but she knows she’s being ridiculous and mad and she just gives another sob. He doesn’t get it, she tells herself. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know.

But his words still resonate, still ache, and it’s so much more than petty thievery. It’s not about that anymore. Her morals can sob over that later. No, this is about _survival_.

“What do we do with her?” one of the guards asks, sympathy or pity or something in his voice. “I’d feel awful about locking a kid up, especially one in this shape.”

“She’s a moonshadow,” another says. “Doesn’t matter if she’s a kid, she knew what she was getting into.”

“I’m not sure, don’t think she’s from around here.”

“We lock ‘em all up for a day if they steal. They know the rules, they know how scarce water is around these parts.”

“She’s a child!”

“She’s also a thief!” a guard yells, and for a second, she’s struck with actual _fear_. They might lock her up. They might take her away from Callum, from Zym, from the mission, all because she was an idiot. Oh, what will Callum do? He’s _human_ , he’ll be _alone_ in Xadia with a baby _dragon_. And it’s all _her fault_.

“Wait!” she hears a familiar voice call, and she jerks her head up _so_ fast. Callum is dashing towards the guards, towards _her_ , and while she longs for his presence more than ever, she also needs him to run the opposite direction for his own safety.

“Wait, uh, sir,” Callum says, stumbling over his words and his legs that don’t want to work. His fake accent isn’t present, and she’s not sure whether she would be more worried with it or not. “Please don’t lock her up. She... she didn’t know you have to pay.”

One of the guards quirks an eyebrow, and Callum continues, “We’re not from around here. We have a well in our village, and you can just take water from it. We thought it worked the same here, I’m so sorry.”

Those were... blatant lies. There was no truth to them aside from the fact that they aren’t from that town. Other than that, it’s complete bullshit, so made up on the spot, and Rayla’s heart pounds because there’s no way the guards buy it. There’s no way this goes right for them.

But one of the guards, the one who seemed apprehensive to locking her up, says, “You kids get out of here and never come back, alright?”

It’s not much, in fact, in any other situation it would’ve been awful. But it beats staying, it beats being jailed, and Callum knows it. His eyes light up, and all too excitedly, he agrees, “Yes! I mean... yes sir. We’ll be out of your hair.”

The other guards raise their eyebrows, but Callum looks at Rayla and she doesn’t notice anything else. It only lasts for a moment, but Callum’s eyes shine with _something_ , and she realizes it’s... concern. Genuine concern. He cares. And something about that makes her want to curl into a ball and start sobbing again, except she wants him to wrap his arms around her while she does.

His scarf is bright red against her neck.

He walks over, circling one of his arms around her elbow and helping her stand. Her legs nearly collapse, but she holds together by sheer willpower at this point. Callum thanks the guards, and he leads her away, and they’re watched as they walk to the outskirts of town.

“I’m sorry,” Rayla whispers, tentative and quiet, her feet dragging on the concrete fading to grass.

“I know,” Callum says. “I know.”

“How did you...” she swallows, thick and tight. “How did you lie to the guards so easily?”

“I...” Callum stutters, nearly tripping over his feet. “I didn’t even... think about it. I just knew I needed to sa... get you out of there, get _us_ out of there, so I just... lied, I guess. I... I meant it when I said,” he tilts his head towards her, a soft smile on his lips, though his eyes are near tears, “I’d do anything for you, Rayla.”

It’s supposed to make her feel better, and it does. It makes her heartbeat start up again and gives her a smile to return to him. But he shouldn’t have to be willing to do anything, to go to the end of the line. That should be her job.

_("Anything huh?")_

It’s a warm statement, protective, like a hug of words being wrapped around her, but something about it makes a chill go down her spine.

_("What, would you kill someone for me?")_

* * *

What are they supposed to do now?

Do they just... move on? Pretend it never happened? Because the backpack is lighter now with Zym walking around and the bottles missing; he’s gone as far as to take his sketchbook out, not trusting himself to not lose the backpack. The bag is literally empty. There’s nothing inside it, _nothing_. They have nothing, and they just... keep going?

He feels disorientated, like the world is rushing ahead, moving too fast for him to comprehend. He’s not sure how much longer he can hold on to the thread he has. The lies are in the back of his mind, taunting him for being a bad person. Did lying to save someone else make him evil? He didn’t think so, but now, he’s not so sure.

Zym dances around, excited with his newfound freedom from the confines of the backpack. Callum hated to stuff him in there like some object, especially when he could feel him squirming against his back, but they didn’t have another choice. The baby dragon is enjoying walking around now.

Callum can’t say the same for himself.

His legs burn, maybe less than they did before, but they haven’t stopped to sit down since that morning. They haven’t had proper rest since before they crossed the border, but after, they’ve run for miles, he’d nearly drowned, Rayla had sprinted through the town, and Callum’s not sure how either of them are standing. He’s not sure how his legs are functioning anymore. Not to mention his arm.

It burns still, and he’s never been burned this badly so he’s not sure whether or not that’s normal. He’s pretty sure his entire arm being burned isn’t normal anyways. He can feel the itch of the bandages, now dirty and covered in filth, and he’s _sure_ they’re supposed to be changed at some point. Not that they have anything to change them to.

For a second, he finds himself glad Ezran isn’t with them. He hasn’t thought much about him, never having downtime to, his thoughts to focused on ‘ _survive, survive, survive_.’ But now, whether it’s walking through the sandy canyon or Zym or nothing at all, Ezran creeps into his thoughts.

Callum has a feeling Ezran would be enjoying the trip. Especially the forest they were in; he’s sure Ezran would’ve made friends with all the critters. Callum has a feeling he would’ve enjoyed the forest had he not been so wrapped up in not drowning.

Would things be different if Ezran were there? He’d probably find a way to bring up the group’s spirits with his presence alone. But at the same time, things have been so... _bad_ for them, he’s kinda glad Ezran isn’t there to suffer through them.

Is that wrong to think? Is it wrong to find solace in the fact that his brother, his _little_ brother, is on his way to Katolis? He’s going to take the crown and have to rule by himself, all alone, and there’s nothing Callum can do about it. But at the very least, he’s not here. He didn’t have to run for hours through the desert. He didn’t have to go without water for multiple days. At the _very least_ , he doesn’t have to suffer.

Rayla is walking ahead, silent and hunched in on herself, still reeling from the events only minutes earlier. Zym is carefree and curious, trotting around and sniffing the plants, gazing up to the sky in adoration. It’s not peaceful, not by a long shot. He sees the way Rayla’s knees wobble, he sees how Zym looks to both of them with concern. Rayla’s hair is matted and her clothes are stained with dirt and dust. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t look any better.

But at least Ezran isn’t with them, because Callum’s not sure how he would react to seeing his little brother in a similar state.

And on a whim, Callum pulls his sketchbook to his front, sliding the charcoal into his hand and unclasping the book. He sifts through the pages, drawings of Claudia passing by that he tries not to look at (her betrayal is a whole other can of worms he’s not ready to open, not now. There’s enough going on as it is.), Rayla standing tall with her swords, and random doodles of things he found interesting.

The last drawings he made were of Rayla that night when he did dark magic. He remembers thinking he needed to capture her likeness before he lost it, needed to be sure he could remember her face.

_("It was about me, wasn't it?")_

He flips past the page, swallowing thickly.

The next page is blank, and he sets to work, letting his mind drift away and his charcoal scratch the paper. His steps don’t shake his hand, and even though his injured arm twitches as he holds up the book, the lines come clear and sharp as ever.

Some time must pass, Callum lost in his world of art, Rayla lost in her thoughts, Zym lost in the wonder of Xadia. When Callum looks up, his neck sighing in relief after being strained for so long, golden light spills from the sky. All around him, sandy mounds are coated in an orange glow, mountains of stone and compacted sand looming in view.

When he gazes down at his sketchbook, there’s Ezran’s likeness on the page, a fur cloak billowing out behind him, uneven crown upon his head. He looks so much older, so much wiser, and Callum feels tears well up behind his eyes.

Just because he’s glad Ezran isn’t here doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss him.

“We’re going to have to stop for the night,” Rayla says, halting in her tracks. She’s turned towards the mountain, gazing with her hand above her forehead to block out the light. “If we try, we might be able to make it to the cave before nightfall.” She tilts her head back to him. “Does that sound— Callum?”

He sniffles, his sketchbook clutched between both his hands, and when he looks down at the page, the lines are misty and muddled. He feels Zym paw at his ankles, but he’s only a reminder of Ezran, and Callum lets a small sob tear from his lips.

“Hey...” Rayla says, tentative and unsure, stepping closer to him. “Callum, what’s... are you o- what did you draw...?”

She sees the upside down image, sees the tears on Callum’s face, sees the way he avoids looking at the page but still holds it open in his hands, and she puts the pieces together. “Oh... oh, Callum...”

He snaps the sketchbook shut, the bang rippling off into the canyon, and it only makes more tears flow from Callum’s eyes. Even after he’s slung the book over his shoulder, even after he doesn’t have the picture in front of him, he can still see it, still imagine every line and every detail.

And it makes him sad, it does; there’s a hole where his heart should be, but at the same time, he’s still glad Ezran isn’t there. He misses him, but he’s relieved he’s not with them, and that thought only makes him more upset.

Rayla puts her hands on his shoulders, steadying and calm, and Callum leans his head forward to rest under her chin. Zym bats his wings and floats into his arms, and he pokes his head out beside Rayla’s other shoulder and bows his head so it’s against Callum’s hair. Being with them is nice; they feel like a second family, almost, but it’s not a replacement for Ezran.

And Callum wishes things were different.

But he has them now, and he tries not to think about how he’s alone in a foreign land filled with people who want to hurt him, or kill him, or worse, hurt Rayla and Zym for being with him. He tries not to think about how his arm is burned, his legs are cramped, and they’re out of food and water and literally any and all supplies—

“Callum,” Rayla whispers into his hair, her head rested on top of his own, her arms wrapped securely around his back. “We need to get moving so we can reach shelter.”

She pulls away from him, and Callum finds himself strangely... missing her. He misses how she let her head droop onto his, misses how her arms felt around him, misses her hug and her warmth. But she’s right; the sun is going down quickly, and they need to get moving.

Callum wipes his tears with the back of his hand. There’s no point in being sad over something he can’t control, no point in fretting about Ezran when he’s on the other side of the continent. “Yeah,” he says, proud of his voice for only shaking slightly. Zym curls up in Callum’s arms, head tucked under his chin. There’s no point in worrying about Ezran.

Callum worries anyway.

* * *

They find a cave to sleep in.

The ground is rocky and uneven and uncomfortable, but they’ve faced worse. If they can’t deal with a harsh floor and cramped cave, she can’t even imagine how they’ll deal with the rest of their journey.

Sitting down is relieving after hours of walking. They’ve traveled for long periods of time before on their journey, but never like this. Never while they are battered and beaten. Never when they haven’t drank water for a day, when they haven’t eaten in three, when the whole day has been filled with mishaps and danger.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been a day. It doesn’t feel like Callum nearly drowning, the cliff-side, and the sunfire town were all in one day, but they _were_ , and Rayla feels a surprising amount of exhaustion. Her stamina is quite average for an elf, but even then, she’s never felt this _worn down_ before.

Speaking of being worn down, the bandages wrapped around Callum’s arm are loose and dirty, and they must be itchy and uncomfortable to wear. She’s seen him pull at them throughout the day, and she remembers when she’s had to wear some after training. Leaving them on for too long, especially when they’re dirty, only makes them prickle into your skin.

“I wish there was something to change your bandages to,” she says, drawing her knees close to her chest. “Are they uncomfortable?”

“Kinda.” He picks at them, brushing off Zym when the dragon moves to bite them. He flashes her a smile. “I’ll manage. At least it’s not an open wound. Then things would really be bad.”

“True.”

Their conversation dies there.

She’s on first watch, Callum leaning against the stone of the cave, Zym curled up on his lap like a zappy blanket. The sight of them warms her heart. At the very least, she’s not alone.

Maybe it would be better if she was.

Then Callum and Zym wouldn’t have to suffer. Callum’s arm wouldn’t be burned, Zym wouldn’t be hungry, and all of them wouldn’t be tired. Callum should’ve turned around when he had the chance, gone back home to Ezran, forgotten about her. Then she could’ve taken the brunt of the pain.

_("Callum is... he's my friend! My best friend! I can't do this without him!")_

She’s never had a best friend before. In fact, she’s never had _any_ friends outside of Runaan and Ethari, and while she loves them with her whole heart, they don’t exactly... _connect_ with her in the way a friend could.

Relying on others is strictly forbidden in moonshadow culture. It’s a sign of weakness, a show of attachments, and especially when you’re an assassin, that is greatly frowned upon.

So why now (when Callum is the reason they got out of Sol Regem’s barrage, when his bright smile can cure any of his worries, when his quick thinking saved them in the town, when his scarf is around her neck) does she find herself letting him in?

It’s stupid. She’s stupid and weak and selfish, and feeling this way is only going to drag her down. Having attachments to the human lying in front of her with his mouth open and eyes close and arms curled around Zym is only going to make her less focused on the mission. The solution- the _only_ solution is to stop caring. She has to stop caring about Callum.

But that’s not really what she wants, is it?

_("You'd do it again, wouldn't you?"_

_"Yes.”)_

And what good would her not caring do? Callum will still care for her, he’ll still fight for her, still be there by her side. Rayla can’t lose anyone else.

_("I can't lose you too. I can't. Not again. Don't you care?")_

But he _does_ care, and that’s why he lied to the guards. Thats why he did dark magic. He’s proven himself over and over again, actions and words. Everything Callum does is because he cares too much, and so maybe... maybe her anger wasn’t directed at Callum “not” caring about _her_.

Maybe she meant... why doesn’t he care about himself?

She knows he’ll do anything for her, and for Ezran, and for Zym. But why not himself? His kindness knows no bounds, so why won’t he share a little with himself? Why won’t he understand that his own safety has to come first; she’s the one who has to take care of everyone else, and he can fend for himself. Why doesn’t he care about his own safety?

Is it for the same reason as her: honor? The good of the country comes before the individual, and everyone says that like a show of pride. But how would caring for her benefit Katolis?

It’s not the mission, because they could be enemies and still travel together. It’s not some sort of manipulation; he’s too pure for that. There’s no benefit. There’s no gain. What is it? Why can’t she figure him out? Why does Callum care so much about her?

And why does she care so much about him?

Absentmindedly, she fiddles with her belt, clicking her nails against the buckle. There’s specks of dirt and rust on the metal, pieces of her belt torn away in places. Her throat is sore and dry, her stomach empty, her heart filled with guilt.

It’s all her fault.

It was her idea to go for water, her idea to go into the town in the first place. She was the one who was too greedy, and now, because of her, Callum and Zym have to pay for it. They all have to pay for it.

_(“You’ve killed us all!”)_

It’s all her fault. Just like before. Her team is gone, and soon, this new one will be too, and it’s the same thing again. A cycle of death and loss, and her being the one to blame. If they die, their blood is on her hands. If they die, it’s because of her.

It’s all her fault, and there is nothing she can do about it.

And she sits with her head on her knees, Zym trying to stay asleep, and Callum picking at his bandages, his hand over Zym’s claws at the hem of his shirt.

Wait.

She stands up, so fast her head starts to spin and her knees shake. Her hands rush to unclasp her belt, fiddling with the buckle and roughened leather. Once she gets it undone, she drops it with a clang that’s makes Zym jump and Callum’s face crinkle, and then she takes a step over to them.

Her legs collapse, and with a cry, she violently falls back to the cave floor, hitting the palms of her hands. Through her left wrist, there’s a flash of pain so intense she feels her soul leave her body, but then she hears Callum’s voice.

“Rayla-?”

She crawls towards him, using only one hand, ignoring her own pain to settle his. “I have an idea. For... um... for your bandages.”

He raises his eyebrows, and she scoots closer, sitting by his side. When she whips out her blades, he flinches backwards.

“Okay, while cutting my arm off _might_ solve the burn, it won’t help—“

She ignores him, and he promptly shuts up when she makes a swift cut to her shirt. Her leggings are high wasted enough where chopping her shirt doesn’t show her stomach, but she’s not sure how much they’re going to need.

He watches her, eyes trained on the fabric fluttering down to her knees. She sets her blades to the side, and gestures for his arm with her hand.

He places it in her grip, and starting where the bandages meet his wrist, she begins to unwind them. They stick to his skin like glue, and she can see him flinch. Peeling bandages away always stings, so she tries to do it quickly. When she gets to the area the burn was the worst, Callum hisses through his teeth, but otherwise makes no move to stop her, so she doesn’t.

(If her fingers hover for a _fraction_ of a second at the sound, she continues on before thoughts of being weak and soft can bubble in her mind.)

The bandages are brown and disgusting, frail from him falling in the river, dirty from walking through the forest and terrain.

The burn is somehow worse.

Minus the specks of dirt and grime she knows isn’t safe to be there (she _would_ wash it off, but they have no water- and that’s _her_ fault), his entire arm, from his shoulder to his wrist, is tinted red. Along the outer side, it’s swollen in patches, blisters peeling off layers of skin, but it’s also slick and shiny, and her heart drops as she realizes it’ll most likely scar. It’s a lot worse than she thought it was, and she prays to whatever higher power is out there that it doesn’t get infected. If getting water is hard, she can’t _imagine_ what getting medicine is like, much less proper medical assistance.

“Is it really bad?” Callum whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and head facing the opposite direction. He reminds her of a young child, almost. Someone who’s mind isn’t calloused enough to not be squeamish, someone who shouldn’t even be in this journey (she’d be better off because they wouldn’t be in pain, _he_ wouldn’t be in pain), especially if they’re too weak to handle it—

No. She _refuses_ to label Callum as weak, because he’s _not_. He wouldn’t have gotten this far if he was. He wouldn’t have saved her from Sol Regem, he wouldn’t have saved her from the town guards, he wouldn’t have done dark magic to save her from Soren and Claudia.

(She’s the one who couldn’t save herself. She’s the one who’s weak.)

Rayla doesn’t answer, and against her better judgement, Callum peeks at his arm. She’s tempted to slap her hand across his eyes, but he turns his whole head and looks at the burn with something akin to regret. Or guilt, maybe. He stares at it for a few seconds, looking like he wants to either cover it or cry, but he does neither of those things. He hardens his jaw, emotion in his eyes fading away.

Then his eyes lift to meet hers, and they stare at each other for what could’ve been a second, but it feels like the universe came to a halt.

_("Am... am I really...?")_

_("I haven't showered in two weeks. This should do the trick.")_

Everything fades to white noise except for Callum’s face, and Callum’s eyes, and Callum, Callum, _Callum—_

_("We did it!"_

_"I'll figure it out!")_

And then Zym.

The baby dragon’s face suddenly pops up in front of her, and Rayla leans back, not expecting the jumpscare. Zym looks at her with innocent eyes and a tongue hanging from his mouth, and Rayla offers a soft smile. She laces her hand through his mane and then drops it to grab the strips of her shirt.

Carefully, she begins to wind them around Callum’s arm, starting at his shoulder. He holds up with arm so she can use two hands, and if she notices him twisting to face her and using his other arm to hold up the injured one, she doesn’t say anything. She works methodically and silently, a lack of tension in the air. The cave is noiseless save for the sound of their breathing, Callum’s chest rising and falling slowly, calmly, and he doesn’t look at his arm again. Whether that’s out of disgust or a show of trust in her is left for Rayla to determine.

Luckily, she cut just enough and didn’t waste any of her shirt (the only thing to go right for them so far). Her shirt is just as dirty as the bandages if she’s being honest, but her shirt is designed to be resilient, and Callum’s old bandages were wet, grim, and flimsy. Her makeshift bandages won’t be _much_ better, but they are by a little, and that could make all the difference.

“Done,” she whispers, just loud enough to hear, slipping the end of the strip under what was already wrapped and tying it off with a knot. “That _should_ stay.”

They can’t afford shoulds, but it’s all they’ve got.

“Thank you,” Callum says, his eyes meeting hers, and he smiles softly. But then it fades to sour, and his eyebrows scrunch together before it all disappears and he looks... tired. With his head angled towards the ground and his mused hair covering his face, voice barely louder than the air, he murmurs, “Will it scar?”

Rayla lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She doesn’t want to lie to him, but she’s not sure he’s ready for the truth either. He’s braced for it; she can tell by the tightness of his shoulders and his eyes that are squeezed shut.

“Maybe,” she decides, brushing over the new bandages. “If nothing goes wrong, it might not.” However, this is Rayla and Callum and Zym they’re talking about, and things seem to _always_ go wrong for them. On top of that, it was _Sol Regem’s_ fire. She still remembers the stories Runaan used to tell her, still remembers the fear they struck into her heart, and if she closes her eyes, she can smell rock and taste ash in her lungs and hear Callum hit the ground—

She shakes her head. “It might leave your skin a bit discolored, but you wear a jacket, so it’ll be easy to hide. If someone asks, you could just say you got sunburnt or something.” Her eyebrows crease together. “I don’t think that’s what we have to worry about, though.”

Callum tilts his head, gaze lingering on her face for a fleeting second and then skipping away. “And what’s that?”

“Infection.” She traces down the side of his arm, fingers barely kissing the navy shirt. “Say one of the blisters opens. With all this dirt and constant exposure, it’s...” She trails off, and Callum brings his knees up and curls his good arm around them.

“Not fair,” Callum finishes with a whisper, so light she almost misses it. He stares straight ahead, eyes half-lidded. The only sound is wind from outside, bringing a sudden chill into the cave. Callum’s eyes are bright green, shining as he turns to look at her. His voice is watery (they have no water and it’s _all her fault_ ), his eyes are tired (they’ve run _miles_ nonstop). He can't prevent the wobble of his jaw when he cries, “This isn’t _fair_.”

_(She is_ angry _, because it's not fair. It's not_ fair _.)_

_("It's not fair."_

_"You're right. It's not fair. But there's nothing we can do about it.")_

_(“That’s understandable." It’s not fair, though.)_

Not once has he complained. Not when he had to leave his home and family, not when his friends betrayed him, not when Sol Regem practically spit in his face. Not when he was burned, not when he nearly drowned, not when he was at his lowest point. Not once did he say it was unfair.

Rayla’s throat chokes up, and she blinks back tears. He has never complained about the ache in his legs. He has never complained about the burn on his arm. He has never complained about their lack of supplies, or the hole Ezran left; not _once_ has he complained that it wasn't fair.

And the world drove him to that point.

Giving a shaky, sad smile, she whispers, “I know.”

When the two of them fall asleep against the cave floor, Rayla forgets her argument about why she shouldn’t care for Callum, and in a brief moment of tenderness, she scolds herself for even thinking she shouldn’t.

* * *

As much as Callum doesn’t want to, they have to keep moving.

Rayla shakes him awake in the morning, and his mind is foggy, eyes glued shut. His throat is dry when he swallows, and the world spins once his eyes are open. Trying to blink it away, he slowly sits up, regretting it as a headache is quick to form. Zym pats his leg with his paws, but he looks warped and titled to Callum, and he places his arm on the ground to steady himself.

And immediately regrets it.

His skin feels tight, like he’s pulling it taut every time his arm moves. Rayla’s shirt, now his bandages, are rough and frayed, getting caught on the scrapes beneath them. His whole arm throbs with its own heartbeat, and the slightest bit of pressure makes it nearly give out and collapse.

“The storm spire is north from here,” Rayla says, standing at the mouth of the cave, covering her eyes from the blinding sun with her hand. Zym trots over to her, puffing out his chest and mimicking the way she stands tall and gazes out.

Callum twists himself around and sits onto his knees. Placing a foot down, his fingertips grazing the rocky floor, he tries to stand. His leg wobbles and tightens, muscles clenching in a chokehold, and Callum grits his teeth. If he can’t even stand, what good is he?

_(“You and the Dragon Prince may pass. The human however, cannot.")_

What was all that work, the burn, the rocks collapsing, the trick, Rayla risking her life, for if he can’t even get up? What was the point of Zym standing over his chest, concern evident, refusing to let Callum carry him even as they were running away and his wings were tired, for if he can’t find it in himself to get up now?

It hurts, he knows it does; he can feel it in his bones and his muscles and his veins, nothing in his body used to the excruciating pain that their journey would put him through. There is nothing he wants more than to collapse back onto the ground, letting the chill of the rock swallow him whole, closing his eyes and never waking up again.

_(“Humans deserve to_ die _.")_

He’sweak, he’s helpless, he’s fragile, and worst of all, he’s too tired to care. He contributes the least to their group, he does absolutely nothing to ensure their survival, and Rayla and Zym would be much better off without him.

What a joke. Callum’s a joke.

But at the same time, there’s a fire lit in his stomach as he remembers Sol Regem’s words. His brother doesn’t deserve to die. Soren and Claudia don’t deserve to die. Hell, even Lord Viren doesn’t deserve to die!

King Harrow didn’t deserve to die.

...

_~~(Or did he?)~~ _ _  
_

Callum takes that fire in his core, takes the desire to prove Xadia wrong, and he shoves it into his legs, finding new motivation to stand. The world is tilted and there are colorful dots seeing into his vision, and Callum wants to go back to being in that peaceful sleep because at least he wasn’t in pain there, at least there was no suffering there, but Zym looks back at him and he’s reminded of what they’re there to do. Who they are there for.

His first step nearly fails, his knee bending at an angle, but he pushes through. As little as he contributes, as little as he brings to table, he can’t leave Rayla alone unless she wants him to. If Callum has nothing to give, at the very least, he can be there so someone else does.

The sun is bright when he looks out, casting an orange glow over the sand and rocks. There are tall mountains made of soil and gravel, doing little to shield the sunlight. It stings his eyes to keep them open for too long, and his head pounds, so he turns to look at Rayla instead.

The light makes her purple eyes even lighter, eyelashes glowing and her skin seeming to shimmer. Her hair is too bright to look at directly, but the sun wraps around the strands, creating crystals for her hair, and she’s even more striking than usu—

Wait.

“Sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” Rayla says, eyes darting across the landscape. “That means we have to go...”

Callum points towards their left. “That way?”

Rayla follows his finger and hums, but her face falls, all emotion draining away as she realizes what looms in front of them. His stomach drops, dread creeping up his throat and seizing it, and he sees Rayla’s shoulders square.

The mountains tower over them, looming like a wolf about to pounce on it’s prey. If they go north, they crash right into the peaks.

Nothing ever goes right for them, huh? _Nothing_. Ever. It’s as if the universe is aligning itself so every possible obstacle gets in their way, like Fate is intertwining their strings with every hurdle they could face.

Rayla sighs. “If we keep heading east, we’ll eventually get to a clearer area. It’s that or we try to push through the mountains.”

Going around would take longer, more walking than he’d like, and his legs already feel like they’re going to fall off. He knows Rayla is tired too; he’s seen the way her legs almost give out at random. Sheer willpower is all that’s holding them together at this point, and so one brush of the wind will topple them over. There’s no guarantee (there really isn’t with how their mission has gone so far) that nothing will stumble into their path. There’s no guarantee that they’ll even find a place without mountains.

On the other hand, he doubts he could climb up a _mountain_ , and as strong as Rayla is, he doubts she could scale it in this state either. One wrong move and they would tumble all the way down to an untimely demise.

Is it better to play it safe? Is there even a safe way? Either way, they’ll run into trouble, and with how their mission is going, trying to climb the mountain will surely result in their deaths. Is it worth the risk when he knows the statistics, when he knows the odds are low? There’s no good option, so which is the lesser of two evils?

Either way, they’re throwing their lives into the hands of hungry wolves, and they won’t escape unscathed.

Callum sighs, locking eyes with Rayla. “We go around.”

Rayla nods. “We’ll have to avoid all the towns. Don’t want a repeat...”

He puts a hand on her shoulder, ignoring the way his arm shakes. He knows there’s little chance of their mission succeeding. He knows there’s little chance of them even making it halfway to the Dragon Queen. He doubts he’ll get to see Katolis, Soren, Claudia, Opeli, _Ezran_ again. They aren’t throwing their lives away by avoiding the mountains. They can’t because they’ve already lost them.

But he forces a smile onto his face anyways, because if Callum can’t contribute anything, he’ll at least give Rayla hope. “It’ll be okay.”

No, it won’t, and they both know that. But if being seen as naive is what it take to keep them going, Callum will throw his chance at proving Xadia wrong to the wolves too.

* * *

She’s tired of walking.

They knew this would be a longer path, they knew that their legs would burn and moral would be low and they would be bored, but she still _hates_ it. She still feels like her legs are about to fall off, and honestly, she thinks that would hurt _less_.

Callum lags behind her, sluggish and slow, and she thinks they should at least pick up the pace so they don’t have to walk for as long. However, she’s not sure he could keep up.

She’s not even sure _she’d_ be able to go much faster.

_(She is_ weak _.)_

She keeps her eyes trained on the shadows, watching for any movement. She also has her ears out for Zym and Callum, making sure they’re still with her. Somebody has to be on their guard, and since Zym is a baby dragon and Callum can barely walk straight, it has to be her.

Rayla doesn’t like pushing them this far; they need to play smart instead of relying on brute force. Rationally, they should take at least a day to stop and rest, get needed sleep and regain their strength so they can continue on stronger. They should’ve stayed in the cave, letting the ache in their legs drain away, saving their energy for when they need it the most.

But they can’t afford to sit around. Time is ticking, and there will be no warning for when a bomb will go off. An altercation could occur at any moment, and the frail balance is holding on with loose threads, one wrong move away from snapping. The war is in their hands, the world is in their hands, _lives_ are in their hands.

And they can’t waste their energy. Not when it’s so limited.

They have no food, no water, no supplies, and it’s a painful reminder, one that puts a pit in her stomach and makes her heart squeeze. Callum carries an empty backpack, and between the three of them, they have a pair of blades, a backpack, and...

That’s it.

She could be optimistic and say at least that’s _something_. At least they have a way to defend themselves (not that she’s strong enough to stand up to anyone right now), and they have a way to carry supplies ~~if~~ when they get them. They still have clothes on their backs, they still have Zym, and they still have each other.

That has to count for something, right?

They’ve... they’ve made it this far, right? That _has_ to mean something. They didn’t fight to be here for nothing. Rayla didn’t pry apart rocks five times her weight, choking on ash and dust, while Callum got burned and battered just so they could give up. Callum didn’t nearly drown so that they could die from dehydration. Rayla didn’t drag them for miles so that they could tire out. She can’t count the times they’ve nearly died with one hand; she can’t even count them with both her hands! They didn’t nearly die so they could stop fighting now!

That’s why they’re avoiding towns. There’s tons of sunfire establishments to the east, because of course there is, but at least she knows where they are. Evading then will be easier that way. They have to prioritize their safety, and that means distancing from villages and towns. They don’t want a repeat of last time. They can’t afford a repeat of last time. They _literally_ have nothing left to lose.

_(“Callum, we need it.")_

_(“What, upset because you got caught?”)_

_("They know the rules, they know how scarce water is around these parts.”)_

Her throat feels like she took a handful of sand and shoved it down her mouth. She’s growing concerned with how often her knees almost buckle. There’s a vignette at the edges of her vision, the trees swaying although there’s no wind. She’s hot but not sweaty, aware but confused, and she runs a hand through her hair, going through mental checks in her head.

Last time they had water?

For her, it was yesterday, in the late morning or early afternoon. Callum, she’s not entirely sure, but she thinks he finished off the last of one of their other bottles. It would’ve had moonberry juice in it, which is about half water, so she’s more worried for him. He’s gone a full day, sprinting and drowning, on a sip of half-water. Hopefully he drank some of the river water when he fell in it. As for Zym, they gave him moonberry juice the night they got into Xadia. Maybe she should be worried about _him_ the most.

She tries not to think about how it’s her fault they don’t have water, how Callum almost died for it and she... _lost_ it because she was too greedy and desperate and weak to—

_(She hears the sound of shattering glass.)_

Last time they had food?

Before Ezran left, long before they got into Xadia. It’s been two or three days at least. She’s gone about four days without food for assassin training, but that’s her longest record, and she wasn’t running for her life and crashing headfirst into danger everywhere she turned. Food would have to be their next priority, but water comes first.

She muses her already messy hair. Okay. They need to find some kind of water source _now_ , sometime today. Food can become a bigger priority in a couple days ( _ ~~if they even make it that long.~~_ ). If she recalls, there’s not any streams or lakes or anything before the mountains, not unless they were at the edge of the continent. The best bet would be finding another town—

_(“She’s a child!”_

_“She’s also a thief!”)_

No. They can’t do that.

“I wish I knew a rain spell,” Callum says behind her, his voice coarse. “I could just... conjure up water.”

She hums, which sounds more like a shredder grating on her vocal chords. “That would be useful.”

When she looks back and Callum, there’s a melancholic look on his face, his eyes droopy and his shoulders loose. His jacket is torn at the sleeve, exposing the navy of her bandages. The rest of his outfit is damp and wrinkled. His hair is messy and tangled, dirt coating his cheeks and sweat pooling along his hairline. His hands are dusty, his shoes are darkened, and the only untouched thing on him is his sketchbook. Zym wanders alongside him, keeping a slow pace, head skirting along the ground.

If _Zym_ is out of energy, things must be _really_ bad.

“Are there any rivers around here?” Callum asks, clearing his throat after.

Rayla wrings her hands. “No.”

Callum raises an eyebrow. “Any lakes?”

“...No.”

“Are there even any water sources around here?”

She sighs. “In sunfire elf territory? No. I’m honestly surprised we haven’t died of heatstroke yet.”

Callum stops in his tracks, eyebrows scrunching together. “Then... _why_ are we walking? Where are we going? I thought,” he points a finger at her accusingly, “ _you_ were taking us to a stream or something. Where. Are. We. Going?”

“Beyond the mountains...?” she questions. “Once we get past them, we’ll be in the Silva Terrae, and they’ll be water there.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“Uh—“

“We’re going to die of dehydration before we even get there!” Callum yells, arms spreading out. “Rayla, I can only go three days without water. I’m on my second day. My throat hurts. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. I’m _tired_.” He sighs, deflating, head bowed. “We have to get water now. I don’t care about getting past the mountains, or finishing the mission as soon as possible. If we don’t get water, we won’t be _able_ to finish the mission anyways!”

_(“We’re going to die of dehydration before we even get there!”)_

He’s... right. The world is waiting for one slip up, one fight, and that could happen at any second. Everyone is on their guard, watching the shadows, waiting for an attack that’ll set the world ablaze. If they don’t return Zym as soon as possible, who knows what will happen?

But if they don’t take care of themselves, the war will happen anyways.

Because if they die, Zym won’t be returned. If they die, there’s no one to stop the humans and elves from killing each other. They’re the worlds last hope as it waits with baited breath, a contest of willpower, testing how much pressure it takes before the other side cracks. They are all the world has, the only chance of peace, and it’s...

It’s a cycle, isn’t it?

They have to get Zym back home as soon as possible, which means no breaks, no meandering, no putting things on pause. But they also _have_ to stop so that they can make the journey. But if they stop, the world could tip over. But if they _don’t_ stop, the world could tip over. There’s no good option, in fact, there’s _no_ option, because no matter what choice they make or what path they take, the outcome is going to be the same.

They never had any control. They never had any hope. They were never the ones pulling their strings, they were never the ones who made choices. Their lives have been handed over to some other power, some other force, whether that’s the war, society, or Fate itself. They never had a choice. There never was a choice.

Was it all for nothing? Ezran leaving. Callum struggling. Rayla fighting. Were they punching and kicking and screaming against a brick wall? Were they walking down a path already laid out for them, destined to lead to the edge of a cliff? She... _they_ couldn’t possibly have come all this way for nothing, right? There was no way they fought and cried and nearly _fucking died_ for the universe to give one big ‘fuck you’ and throw them off the cliff... right?

What’s the point? What’s the... _fucking_ _point_ of going on? They’re not going to get anywhere. They’ll die if they keep going, but everyone will die if they stop. But if they don’t keep going, everyone will die anyways. There’s no option. They’re out of chances they never _fucking_ had to begin with, and they’re stranded in Xadia with a baby dragon and human prince and weak elf and they’re _failures_.

They fail either way. They’ll fail no matter _what_. She’s _dying_ in her own. Fucking. Home.

They’re dying.

They’re... they’re literally _dying_. Somewhere along the way, she had chalked the dizziness and near-collapses and sore throat and gnawing in her stomach to exhaustion, but she’s dehydrated. She’s starving. She’s tired. Her body is killing her from the inside out, but there’s no way to _stop_. They can’t stop. They can’t go on. They can only run around in circles, lamb to the slaughter, the universe’s personal playthings.

_(He tucks down his pinky and hits his hand against hers. "We did it!")_

_(“If we don’t get water, we won’t be able to finish the mission anyways!”)_

When had the mission gone from their trio making jokes as they walked, watching Zym titter around in awe, laughing at each other’s antics, to dressing wounds, barely keeping the shake out of their legs, wondering how they’re going to live another day? When had the mission gone from a matter of choosing whether to journey on by boat or foot to a matter of life or death? It was calm for a while. It was _fun_ for a while. It was never easy, she won’t lie and say it was, but it was never _hard_ either. It was never exhausting.

She turns to Callum, who used to have a light in his eyes, who used to wear a bright smile and his heart on his sleeve. He used to crack wry jokes and gesture animatedly and beam at her like she was something to be awed at. This ball of sunshine... _their_ ball of sunshine, is reduced to a boy without a jacket, without a bare piece of skin, without a family, without a home.

_(At the very least, she’s not alone._

_Maybe it would be better if she was.)_

And maybe that’s what changed.

Because... whenever Rayla had a bad day, whenever the reality of their mission hit her, whenever her wrist flared with pain and she wondered how she would protect them with one hand, she could _always_ count on Callum beside her. He was always there with unwavering optimism. He was always there to lend a hand on her shoulder or a chest to cry into. He was the heart of their group, their light, their _hope_.

_(“It’ll be okay.”)_

No, it won’t. And he knows it.

_(“This isn’t_ fair _.”)_

And that’s what broke.

Rayla can handle herself cracking. She can handle her negativity, her pessimistic outlook. She can handle her sarcasm, her seriousness, her lack of faith, but only because someone else was always there to pick up the slack. Someone else was always holding onto the threads for her.

But now... no one is holding on. No one is optimistic. No one is hopeful.

What’s the _fucking point?_

And Rayla starts to cry; her throat closes and her hands tremble, the weight of the mission and how _catastrophic_ it’s failure could be crashing down on her. They were supposed to be the world’s hope, but they can’t do that without hope of their own, but that was crushed like the bottle of water she lost that started all of this.

“What do we do now?” she whispers, hands covering her eyes. Zym curls over her feet.

Callum is quiet for a few seconds. “We could go into a town.”

_(“I do want to help you. I honestly do. You guys look like you’ve been through some shit. But if I can’t break the rules for other people, I can’t break the rules for you.”)_

_(“She’s a moonshadow. Doesn’t matter if she’s a kid, she knew what she was getting into.”)_

_(“Please don’t lock her up. She... she didn’t know you have to pay.”)_

“No.”

“Ray—“

“No!” she yells, tearing her hands away from her face. “Last time we went into a town, we lost our _only_ source of water. We’re _dying_ because we went into a town.” She rakes her hands through her hair, pulling it up from the roots as she paces. “You can’t disguise yourself properly, we can’t hide Zym, and I can’t... losing the water was my fau— because we went into a town—“

“What choice do we have?” Callum asks, watching her with concern. “We’re going to face other elves at some point. May as well get supplies if we can.”

“But... it doesn’t... work like that! These things... they don’t work out for us, Callum.”

“I know that. But...” He sighs, meeting her eyes with a set jaw. “There’s no other choice.”

There’s no choice anyways.

They die either way. They get hurt either way. They go to war either way. If they stop, they go to war. If they keep going and die, they go to war. If they keep going and live... or if they stop but the war doesn’t start...

There’s a third path, isn’t there? Maybe it’s obscured, maybe it’s unlikely to work in their favor, maybe it won’t lead to a different outcome at all, but they have options. There’s another path. There’s another way.

There has to be. There literally _has_ to be, because otherwise...

It’s risky. It’s throwing their lives into the hands of Fate, hoping it won’t toss them into the fire. They’re taking their lives and handing them over to the same forces that tried to kill them before. They’re putting their trust in a fragile peace, a thin thread, but there’s no other option.

It’s that or die. Rayla doesn’t like it. She _really_ doesn’t like it.

But she’d like dying even less.

And so, swallowing down her pride and her fear, Rayla locks her eyes with Callum and nods. “Fine. We go into a town.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rayla : wait,,,,,, if i don’t have hope,,,,,, and you don’t have hope,,,,,, then who’s driving the car????????
> 
> *THE CAVE SCENE TOOK SO FREAKING LONG TO GET TO A POINT THAT I COULD TOLERATE IT UGHHH I NEVER WANNA SEE THIS CHAPTER AGAIN LMAO
> 
> *i think i put off posting this bc i haven't started a chapter beyond this so i don't want to run out of content. when i posted chapter one, the plan was to write everything before posting it, but im lazy and stopped around mid this chapter. when chapter one was posted, i already had half of this chapter written. after this chapter, i don't have anything new until i actually start VFHGJGKB.
> 
> *oh also i made this a playlist  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ywgkf0B37UbVsXlrATJdH?si=7oz7CeDhQf6MnQO9UBtWbQ

**Author's Note:**

> *i actually wrote like two thirds of this in class lmao
> 
> *omg i staRTED THIS IN NOVEMBER LAST YEAR EW
> 
> *so this chapter was actually meant to be much longer. like, m u c h longer but i cut it off here bc i don’t think ppl wanna read a 50,000 word chapter
> 
> *once i reach my planned end of “chapter one” i’ll tell you and you can see how long it was gonna be and thank me
> 
> *pffft a writing style???? lmao what’s that
> 
> *it only gets worse from here :D aren't u just soooooo excited!!!!!!!


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